


Stones of Time

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, League of Assassins - Freeform, Outlander - Freeform, Psychological Torture, Romance, Sexual Tension, Time Travel, Violence, battles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3805057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Felicity Smoak is halfway across the world on a mission to recover the rumored mystical waters known as the Lazarus Pit. But when fate tosses her back in time and into the company of rogue League of Assassins members, she's caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse... soon falling for the mysterious Al-Sah-him, otherwise known as Oliver Queen. Will she find a way back to her time, or will love and adventure keep her in the past to possibly change the future? *inspired by Outlander*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about by combining my obsessions with Arrow and Outlander. It took me forever to find a way to work the two together, but when the League became such a prominent part of the show, it became apparent that this was the perfect way to do it. I hope you enjoy this. It is definitely different from other things I've read... 
> 
> (Note: any arabic within this story is found through google or with help from beautiful and kind folks on tumblr. If anything is incorrect, please correct me. I'd really appreciate keeping things accurate and I'll need help to do so.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came from my love of Arrow and Outlander. It took forever for me to get it worked out, and honestly, I think this will be an interesting ride. Note that you do not have to have read/watched Outlander in order to enjoy this story. It is inspired by it, but not a scene-by-scene knock off. This is its own story.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this little prologue. The first chapter will be posted later. Please leave comments, kudos and share it with your fandom buddies! :)

I had never been one to believe in fate. While it seemed nice to believe that your life is laid out at conception and that you are destined for specifics things, I knew it couldn't be that way. In the grand scheme of things, there were too many options, too many pathways, too many overall outcomes. It seemed to perfect to believe that every decision you could ever make was already decided, not by you, but by some all-powerful cosmic entity. Too magical. Too ridiculous. It was too mythically far-reaching for my liberal, scientific mind to accept.

Until I stepped through the stones.

I didn't literally step through stones. While what happened to me was, and still is, impossible, I didn't somehow become ghost-like. The stepping through stones was more metaphorical. I walked between two standing stones topped with another slab like a child walking beneath a dinner table. I didn't understand the significance of those stones then, and I am still attempting to understand it now, grasping at straws steeped in old world myth and campfire tales passed along through generations. Ancient researching is an absolute pain in the ass, but was all I had, and it gave me more information than my computers might have. Belittling my babies kills me, especially when I admit something old-fashioned garners better results. But the truth is, my time on the other side of the stones has taught me a good deal more than I would have ever expected.

But I can't get ahead of myself. Let me begin with the research trip that started it all.

 


	2. A Stone Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter... I hope you enjoy this story. Please leave comments, kudos and share with your fandom buddies. Also, if any arabic is incorrect, please let me know (and possibly give me the correct words). I'd appreciate keeping this as accurate as possible, but I can't do that without your help!

The mountains loomed ahead of me, snow-capped and terrifying. I tugged at my coat, making sure the zippers and buttons were completely fastened and closed before turning toward my guide, Rashid. He was a local man, thick accent and bearded. He had connections to S.T.A.R. Labs, but would not share much with me that didn't pertain to our trek. But he was kind, with a hearty laugh in response to my ridiculous babbles.

“How much farther?” I asked, hoping my whine was masked by my desperate attempt at catching my breath. A frigid gust of wind battered against us, forcing me to tuck my headscarf more snuggly into my coat. While I had never really understood the need for women to wear headscarves in this part of the world, I appreciated the coverage it gave my head, keeping my hair out of my eyes and tangle free. How convenient!

“Not far,” he replied. “Just around that bend.” He pointed up ahead to a cluster of trees poking up behind a large hill.

“Thank goodness,” I murmured, pulling out the satellite phone and dialing the number.

“What up, world traveller!” Cisco answered without preamble. “How's the hiking going?” His laughter sent frustration through me.

“Wonderful,” I answered with a chuckle. “You should have joined me. Oh wait, you can't because you have metahumans to trap and study.”

“Harsh. But really, I'd hate to be there.”

“It's actually quite beautiful,” I said, letting my voice trail off as I gazed up at the peaks and the mist-shrouded hills leading upward. I might not have been an outdoorsy type of girl, but I appreciated the beauty of the landscape and how majestic the mountain range was. What was that line from _Pride and Prejudice_? _What are men compared to rocks and mountains..._ While I couldn't deny that pleasure a man could give, I had been sorely lacking in that department, every date leading to awkward excuses or uninteresting follow-up dates. But the Hindu Kush mountains had awakened something within me, something adventurous and it was invigorating. I could understand why so many people were willing to call the region home.

“Well, you're not there for some Nat Geo photo essay, Felicity. Remember the mission.”

Cisco was right. The mission.

“As of now, a few locals were willing to indulge me with some old stories about a group of people they called Shadows. They were dangerous men and women throughout history, taking matters into their own hands when it came to the political, religious and economical. They were known to kill the elite to give the poor better options.” I let out a little laugh. “Seems to me like these Shadows were doing the world a favor. I mean, can you imagine Starling City being protected by some vigilante in the shadows? That would be so amazing. Barry can't be everywhere at once, no matter how fast he is.”

“Anything about the waters?” Caitlin jumped into the conversation, her voice impatient and desperate. Her interest in the mission was solely for the medicinal properties of the waters in question, if they truly existed.

“The only hint was that most of the Shadows were the same throughout time. A man might have seen one Shadow as a child and then seen the same one as an elderly man, but the Shadow never seemed to change. Youthful, powerful and unchanging. Sounds like ancient plastic surgery to me.”

“You have to find the waters, Felicity,” Caitlin said, her voice pleading.

I knew Caitlin was hoping the waters might heal Ronnie at a molecular level, ridding him of his metahuman fire and flight abilities. But something told me the waters weren't used for such things, if the stories I had heard were any indication. “I'll do what I can,” I answered. “We're not far from our camp. Once we get situated, I'll start the satellite scans and see if I can find anything nearby.”

“Keep us updated,” Cisco said, then ended the call.

I turned to my guide and nodded. “Let's keep moving.

By the time we reached the trees, night was transforming the sky and the world below the peaks was shrouded in darkness. Our lanterns lit up our small campsite as we pitched the tents and lit a fire. As soon as the necessary chores were done, I dug my laptop out and connected to the S.T.A.R. Labs satellite and scanned the surrounding area, keeping an eye out for any environmental abnormalities, especially near or within known water sources. Finally the alerts went berserk, sending me into a frantic fight to silence them. They were picking up some unknown source of energy a few miles away.

“What's that way, Rashid?” I asked, pointing to the north.

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Nothing, that I know of. But many say that area is haunted, controlled by a powerful shebah... a ghost.”

“That's silly,” I said, trying to keep myself from shaking at his words. I was no believer in the paranormal. It seemed strange to believe that there was anything after death; why have hope when the end result is probably disappointing? But the tone of Rashid's voice told me to take things a little more seriously. If the rumors of the magical waters were any indication, some things were simply unexplainable.

“That might be true, but I'd recommend not venturing there.”

I set the laptop aside, eyeing the readings. Numbers fluctuated in that area, signifying unknown elements. A scientific gold mine, so to speak. There most likely wasn't any real gold there. “Rashid, are you telling me you would not lead me on a expedition a few miles away to see this?”

“I will not, Felicity.”

“Why ever not?' I asked, my cheeks heating with annoyance.

“If it becomes known that I lead an outsider to haunted grounds, I will be shunned.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Felicity, you don't understand what it is like in these parts,” he chided, his tone turning informative. “While I do work for S.T.A.R. Labs often and travel, my home is here. My family is here. They've accepted my work after much argument. But they will not accept me stepping into the land of the shebah.”

I pointed to the screen. “It clearly isn't anything paranormal...ghostly. It has to have a scientific explanation. These readings are spectacular, and I need to see what's there.”

“I agree with you,” he said. “Those are spectacular findings. But I cannot be your guide. My reputation in the villages is already strained. I cannot make that worse.”

I sighed. I understood his fears. To lose family and friends is tough. If you have any chance to prevent it, I recommend taking that chance and keeping loved ones close. Finally I nodded. “Then I'll go on my own. Before first light.” I stood and began walking to my tent.

Rashid stood quickly and stepped into my path, blocking my way. “You cannot go by yourself.”

“Well, if you won't go with me, I have to go by myself.”

He remained silent for a few moments, then groaned. “I do not condone this, Felicity. And I am sure Doctor Wells would agree with me.”

I stepped around Rashid and began unzipping the tent flap. “Well,” I said, crouching into the tent. “It's a good thing Doctor Wells isn't here.”

 

* * *

 

I didn't sleep well. The stories of shadows and ghosts infiltrated my dreams and woke me constantly, facing me with bitter cold breaking through my layers of sleeping bags and blankets. Images of violence and treachery flashed in my head, always featuring a man in a hood and scarf covering his mouth, the only feature easily seen being his eyes. Blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that could be warm and loving, while just as easily being cold and deadly. He was always fighting a shapeless darkness with a voice like thunder.

Finally, I had enough and began preparing for my trek to the energy source. I changed my clothes and then packed up some water, power bars and all of my equipment, leaving my laptop out. I opened it and sat down, turning on the video recorder.

“Hey guys, it is too early for me to talk to you, so I am letting you know my plans.” I glanced down, smoothing out the wrinkles in my scarf. “I had some strange readings from the satellites last night from a location a few miles away from here. Very unusual. Nothing I've ever seen before. No matter what I did, the numbers wouldn't stick with one element or compound. I am going there now, alone. Rashid refuses to take me.” I sighed, feeling a little disappointment. “The locals believe it is the home of a ghost. I'm assuming the readings I obtained are physically felt in the area, leading many to believe it is haunted. As soon as I learn anything, I will contact you. Bye!”

I closed the laptop and stuffed it into my backpack and then quickly wrapped the scarf about my head, tucking it into my coat. I took a deep breath, feeling nervous for the first time. “You got this, Smoak!”

The hike was lonely and quiet. On occasion I would sing to myself, but there were only so many 90s rap songs to recite before going through them all. Within a few hours, I stopped to eat a power bar and guzzle down some water. The sun was slowly peeking out from below the horizon, sending the darkness away and lighting the world up. I had never really seen a sunrise; I liked my sleep too much for that. I glanced down at my tablet, seeing the readings. They were closer than I had expected. I jerked my head up and saw a structure up ahead, previous draped in mist.

I was never a superstitious person. I believed wholeheartedly in science and medicine and numbers and my own ability to use a keyboard. But standing there, at dawn, the world was completely different.

The mountains were ominous backdrops, standing guard to the world and the structure that had caught my attention. It was giant. Even from this distance, I knew it was massive. I picked up my bag and began walking toward it, finding the air growing thicker, surging and buzzing with a strange buzzing noise. Like bees, only one hundred times more annoying. As I came closer, the structure began reminding me of Stonehenge. I knew Stonehenge was built on theoretical and mythical ley lines, and I wondered if that was the case with his monument.

It resembled a table. A large stone table fit for giants and surrounded by smaller, rounded stones all grouped in a circle. The larger ones were covered in moss and vines, all of which seemed out of place in the Hindu Kush. They snaked their way up the slabs, filling crevices and hanging down from the horizontal top. It was beautiful and strange and completely impossible.

And all the while, the buzzing was incessant. It drowned out the morning sounds... the sounds of the world waking from its slumber. Even when I covered my ears, the noise was deafening, finding its way through my fingers and into my head.

I glanced down at my tablet it find it going haywire, then totally shutting off. “No! What the...”

The buzzing intensified, as if it had sucked the life out of my tech. I pouted slightly as I dropped my backpack, slipping the useless tablet into a small front pocket.

I followed the circle of smaller stones, keeping my eyes on the giant table at the center. The buzzing seemed to originate from it, echoing out of the rock and vines. Another impossible thing. I trailed my hand along the outside of the slabs, feeling the cold and wet surface. Nothing unusual about the touch. Once I reached the other side of the circle, I looked into the opening of the table, seeing my belongings and sun shining through. It was a beautifully haunting sight, and I began to understand the locals' wariness of the area.

I took a step forward, hesitantly at first, then picked up the pace, finding myself covered by the table. The buzzing swarmed and attacked my ears, working its way deeper into my body, shaking me. And then an ache formed in the pit of my stomach and my feet ceased their progress. My vision began to narrow until everything went black.

 

* * *

 

I awoke sometime later, the buzzing gone but the stone table covering me still. I was on my back, head throbbing and muscles aching. It reminded me of my worst hangover ever, and I wondered if I had somehow packed vodka instead of water. I shook my head at the silly suggestion.

The world was brighter than before, and I cursed myself for wearing contacts instead of my transitioning lenses. I squinted as I sat up, rubbing my temples to try and ease the pain. It took a few minutes for my body to catch up with my mind.

I finally stood and made my way out from under the stones, finding my backpack gone. I spun around, searching for a sign of anyone else. “Hello?” I shouted. I walked around the circle, finding no signs of disturbance or even of my own interference in the area. “Rashid?” The buzzing remained gone, as well as the heaviness of the air. The absence of both was pleasant, but somehow sent a wave of fear through me.

I left the circle, following my previous path back to camp. It felt like this trek was shorter than the other, as I found the cluster of trees soon within my line of sight, and the smoke of a warm fire rising up comfortingly. I began to run, anxious for relaxation and answers.

But that is not what I was met with.

As I came closer, I heard voices. Many voices. All speaking Arabic with strange accents. Not traditional. The camp was bigger, filled with more tents and a line of grazing horses. I stopped on my tracks, listening to find a few voices speaking English.

“I don't know how to mend wounds, Al-Sah-him.”

“Well, I need something to be done.”

“Would you like some wine? It might deaden your senses a bit.”

“No. I would like this-” The voice screamed midsentence, then continued shakily. “I would like this pain to retreat, not be masked.”

Suddenly all of the voices quieted, whispers in Arabic floating on the breeze, sending shivers down my spine. I stepped back, ready to run for the stone table and found myself colliding with a solid body. Hands grasped my shoulders and pushed me forward. Once I was amongst the many men within the camp, the person shoved me roughly to the ground. I collapsed with a yelp so helpless it made me feel bad for myself.

Multiple murmurs in Arabic met me ears as I kept my eyes down, looking at my hands, my fingers dug deep into the dirt.

“Al-Sah-him, is this a League agent?” one man finally spoke in English.

With a pained groan, the voice spoke: “No, I don't think so.”

I tilted my head up, letting my eyes find the owner of the voice. He was a large, muscular man with closely cropped hair and cold blue eyes. He was grasping his bare shoulder, gritting his teeth in pain. He looked at me with interest. I looked at his shoulder, seeing instantly that it was dislocated.

“I-” I took a deep breath before starting once more. “I can fix that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Al-Sah-him, you would allow this ajnabi to tend to you?”

His eyes flicked to the man behind me, full of annoyance and pain and disdain. “Well none of you can do it. If she can fix this, I will take my chances. We have too many people on our tails. We need to move quickly.” He waited for a low grunt from the man, then turned his attention back to me. “Please. Do what you can.”

I slowly stood, my knees aching. I walked over and motioned for him to drop his hand. He did so. I looked around, finding a dozen eyes locked on me and my movements. “I suggest that anyone who might find this gross should leave.”

With a jerk of the head, the man before me sent everyone else away.

I turned back to him and felt the damage. As I had assumed, it was just a dislocation, but along his chest were slash marks slowly bleeding. “I'll need to treat those as well. Do you have a first-aid kit?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “A what?”

It was then that I took in the camp and his clothes and the manner with which he had spoken. I was not in twenty-fifteen. I could not be in twenty-fifteen.

Putting that terrifying thought aside, I explained to him the procedure to reposition his shoulder. He let out a quiet whimper and then nodded, steeling himself for the pain. I counted down and then thrust the arm up and in until the bones locked into place. He screamed.

I quickly grabbed his discarded sash and wrapped it around him, creating a makeshift sling. He frowned. “You must not move this arm,” I explained.

“I'll move whatever I please.”

“If you want your shoulder to heal correctly, you'll keep that arm in the sling.”

We stared at one another, an intensity forming between us and I instantly recognized those eyes. They were from my dream. They were the fighting man's eyes. Beautiful blue. Capable of love and gentleness as well as coldness and danger.

He stood then and slipped out of the sling, awkwardly tugging a shirt and coat over his lightly tanned muscles with his free hand. He replaced the sling with an annoyed grunt. Then he leaned down and retrieved a quiver of arrows. Before stepping away, he looked at me and said: “You'll be coming with us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> shebah - ghost  
> ajnabi - stranger/foreigner (suggested by leuberpwnage on Tumblr)


	3. Wariness and Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my. I am so amazed by the response this story has gotten! Thank you so much to everyone who has shown interest in it! Your support is overwhelming! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Don't forget to leave comments and kudos. And feel free to share this with your fandom buddies! I appreciate every form of support! :D

I stared at him, dumbfounded, for a few moments. His words hung in the air between us as he slowed, sensing that I was not following. He turned around, his eyes narrowed in some attempt at intimidation but deep within them they sparkled with amusement. “Follow,” he demanded, simply.

I laughed loudly and rudely, causing his eyes to narrow further, the amusement dropping away to a faint glimmer. “Like hell...”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a frustrated huff. Around the camp, eyes watched us from within their matching hoods. “You will. No argument.”

“There _will_ be argument. I don't know you, Mister Al-Sah-Whatever, so I'm not _following_ you!” I stood and crossed the small distance between us, tilting my head to look up at him with narrowed eyes. I hoped I was intimidating. I hoped that my words were spoken with enough fire that he knew how serious I was. I hoped he understood. But instead of accepting my outburst, he simply laughed.

He laughed! As if the whole situation were a joke. After a few moments that sent the rest of the hooded figures into hysterics, he finally composed himself and reached out to pat me on the shoulder. “If you will not follow willingly, I'll throw you over my shoulder and take you with us.”

My eyes widened at his words and the smile that twitched along his lips. “You will do no such thing! Your injuries alone wouldn't allow for that!”

He leaned forward and the tip of his nose brushed mine. “Do not take my threats lightly, stranger.”

Without leaning away from him, I whispered: “You wouldn't dare.”

He huffed, the breath flying across my face, warming my already angry skin. Without hesitation, he grasped my waist and tossed me over his good shoulder with a grunt of pain, but it was clear my weight meant little to him. I might as well have been a child with the ease he hefted me. I began kicking and screaming, my fists meeting his solid, muscular back with no effect, the same as my feet. He was a statue and I was a feather, two very different bodies forced together in anger and urgency. Any attempt at escape was futile, I knew. So I relaxed my muscles and sighed. “Okay. Okay. Let me go. I'll go with you.”

He stopped his stride and stood very still, his rough hands still tight around my legs. Silently, he loosened his grip and guided me down, my body sliding against his in a way that might have been alluring had it been someone familiar. Once my feet touched the ground, I looked up into his eyes, finding wariness there. “You will ride with me,” he murmured, tossing his head in the direction of a jet black horse grazing the short grasses and weeds by the trees.

I nodded as I looked back at him, attempting to be defiant in my helplessness. The expression on his face told me he was buying none of it. He grabbed my hand, finding it shaking and dragged me toward the horse, all the while shouting orders in Arabic which his men obeyed. All except one.

By his size, I knew he was the man who had brought me to Al-Sah-him. He frowned slightly as he put himself between us and the horse, his dark skin flushed with annoyance. “Ol-” he began, then cleared his throat at the low growl that escaped Al-Sah-him's lips. “ _Al-Sah-him_ ,” he emphasized. “We cannot take this woman - this stranger - with us.”

“We don't know who she is yet,” he responded, the hand wrapped around mine tense but for the thumb, which was ghosting neverending circles along my skin. Such a tender action for a dangerous man. I stared down for a moment, puzzled.

“Precisely,” the man retorted, his voice rising. “We do not know who she is. You aren't sure if she's with the League and-”

“All of this is why we are taking her with us,” Al-Sah-him said, his voice growing thick with his impatience. He pushed the man aside and lead me to the horse. Without a second thought he lifted me up into the saddle, then hopped up behind me. I knew arguing over the arrangement would result in nothing more than growls, so a kept my lips tight and said nothing. His arms wrapped around me, grasping the reins and clicking his tongue to spur the horse into action. We turned out, away from the camp and set course toward the snow-capped mountains.

A sense of dread washed over me in that moment, with a stranger's arms wrapped around me and a group of hooded men following close behind. They were all on edge, glancing about with critical and wary eyes. I began doing the same, unsure what I was looking for but knowing alertness could be a life-saver.

For a while we rode in silence, my head bouncing against his chest. That, mixed with the gait of the horse caused Al-Sah-him obvious pain. He grunted and hissed and huffed, trying mask the discomfort with coughs or comments to other riders. But I knew the truth.

I hoped we would turn toward the stone table, but we soon left that area of the land and found ourselves surrounded by rocky hills and the shadows the peaks cast. I scanned the landscape, keeping watch for whatever threat had the men so nervous. I glimpsed movement some yards away to our right and tensed. He felt the change in my demeanor and bowed his head close, his lips brushing against my ear. “What do you see, stranger?”

I leaned back, letting my head rest along collarbone. He kept his head bowed and I whispered into his ear, hearing his breath hitch slightly. I didn't know if it was from my whispered words or the ache in his shoulder. “There are men watching us to our right.”

“How many?” he murmured.

I shrugged, then whispered once more. “I don't know.”

With one last breath into my ear and a quick “thank you,” Al-Sah-him made some strange hand gestures and then, suddenly, he was pushing me off the horse and shouting over his shoulder: “Take cover, stranger!”

Low to the ground, I crawled forward to a cluster of rocks and bushes. I hopped over them and hid, my heart racing as I heard the sounds of swords clanging against one another and the hiss of arrows in the air. I peeked out from my hiding spot occasionally, hoping for a glimpse of Al-Sah-him or his dark-skinned bodyguard. I caught sight of them, just blurs in the middle of the chaos and sprays of blood, but I knew they were somewhat safe, clearly capable with their chosen weapons. I looked around, wondering if I should make a break for it. The hooded men were preoccupied and they never looked back toward me.

I stood and began to run, hearing my pulse in my ears as the sound of battle faded. The uneven terrain made for a perfect escape, hiding my progress. But, soon, I lost my footing and went rolling down a hill, my scarf falling away from my head and my jeans ripping on twigs and jagged rocks. Once I reached level ground, I stood and looked up toward the top of the hill, finding Al-Sah-him glaring down at me, his hand clasped tightly at his side; the side that still needed cleaning and mending. I frowned and looked around. Even if I began my escape anew, he had a bow and plenty of arrows still left in his quiver. He would shoot me down before I made much progress. I groaned and made my way up the hill, my knees aching.

I pulled my scarf back up onto my head as I reached him, feeling nervous and afraid. He let out a few words in Arabic that held no meaning to me and then looked me in the eyes. His blue ones bored into mine with a mixture of anger and worry that surprised me. “This is a dangerous place, stranger. It would be best if you stay by my side.”

I snorted. “I'd rather take my chances.”

He sighed, painfully. “Like I demonstrated before, I am not opposed to using force. I will throw you over my shoulder again. No hesitation.”

“I just want to go back home,” I whined, stomping my foot like a child.

His eyes brightened with amusement and, once again, a smile twitched along his lips. “Stranger, I don't think I can allow you to go home.”

His face fell then, showing a mixture of apology and sadness. He was a mystery, for sure.

With a nod, I gestured for him to lead the way and he did. He took me to the horse and we repeated the earlier process. Once we were settled in the saddle and the group gathered together, I saw the damage made by the battle. Four horses were riderless and guided by surviving men and their mounts. The majority of the company had sustained minor injuries; cuts, slashes and swollen lips, as well as a few broken fingers here and there. I glanced down, seeing blood soaking Al-Sah-him's thigh. “Your wounds need to be cleaned,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Not now. We have to get back.”

I didn't know where we were going, but the sense of longing in his voice told me it was someplace safe, for the time being. As we set out, a dark figure stood out across the hills, staring at us with a sword gleaming in the midday light and a longbow strapped to his back; almost a mirror to the group I traveled with. “Who is that?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the man.

Al-Sah-him spat onto the ground in disgust. “No one you need concern yourself with,” he said, then spurred his horse forward into a faster gait. “However, if you have to ask, then I assume you're not with the League...”

“As I said before,” I stammered, my teeth rattling with the horse's movement. “I have no idea what that means.”

He remained silent, and I knew he was considering my words and whether I was being truthful. And I didn't know how to prove myself. If I mentioned the stone table, I might be named raving mad or a witch, or both. I was unsure what sort of perils waited for me at our destination, but I knew for sure that I'd never be left alone.

 

* * *

 

Ahead of us, with night spreading from the horizon, torchlight flickered amongst homes built into the mountains. Each one reminded me of certain Native American tribes that built their homes into the sides of canyons, the surrounding stone cooling against the desert heat. I remembered wishing my home in Las Vegas had been one built into the earth; the air-conditioning never truly chased away the dry hundred plus degree weather. I tightened my coat around me and wished to be home with my mom where the winds didn't bite through thick layers of fabric. I shivered.

Al-Sah-him responded to the movement, bringing his arms closer to me to let his warmth seep in. And it didn't take long. I rested my head against his chest and whispered up to his face: “Thank you.”

“We will be near fires soon,” he said, keeping his eyes on the fast-approaching settlement. His home. Or at least a safe place.

Once we arrived, a swarm of inhabitants gathered, cheering for the survivors and mourning the fallen, then they glared warily at me. Al-Sah-him slid off the horse, then helped me down, keeping me hidden from those critical gazes. All the while they muttered that word from earlier: _ajnabi_.

He pushed me up some stairs carved into the rockface to a home perched high above the rest, dark from the lack of torches. I stumbled, only remaining upright by his supportive grasp. He opened a door and we were plunged into deeper shadows, quickly brightened by his skill at lighting the candles scattered throughout the space. Once all were lit, he turned and faced me, his expression pained and weak.

“You said you can mend my wounds... Are you a healer?” he asked, ripping away his jackets and shirts to expose his chest and abdomen, all slashed and bruised and brutally marred. It was evident, even with my minimal knowledge, that many of the scars could have healed properly had there been proper first-aid. The blood dripping from his abs ran down to his thigh, reminding me of my previous comments and worry.

“I'm not a healer, but I know a bit about medicine and first-aid. I can stitch and bandage everything up, but without proper disinfectant, I can't promise that you won't experience some inflamation or maybe even infection. Though, I'm sure you've survived much worse... judging by all of that.” I gestured to all of scars and in the dim lighting, it looked as though he blushed.

“What is _disinfectant_?” he asked, brows raised.

“Uh, well,” I stammered. “It cleans wounds and keeps away infections, inflammation and fevers.”

He nodded. “I've seen such things before.”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, but I don't speak of them,” he said as he went to a trunk along one wall and began digging through it. He returned to my side with a thick black thread and a horrifically long needle that made me tremble. “Can you stitch the wound, please?”

I gulped down my fear and then breathed deeply, my heart pounding. “Sure.”

He went to the pallet on the floor and sat down, groaning with the movement. He gestured to a basin of water and a stack of rags. “You can use that to clean the wounds,” he informed. “It will not clean like your disinfectant, but it should get the job done.”

I brought the basin over to the pallet and placed it between us. “Lean back, please.”

He did as I asked, exposing his side to me and the flickering light. I dipped the rag into the water and then lifted and squeezed it, releasing the excess before bringing it to his skin. His jerked away from the rag at first, his muscles tensed and his fists clenched. But he remained still after, even as I brought the needle through his skin and tightened the two lips of reddened skin together. Every few plunges of the needle I had to wipe away blood, the sight making me feel lightheaded. But I continued, aware of his eyes following my every move. Finally I decided the silence was working against me. “What is your real name?” I asked.

His head jerked up and he looked into my eyes for a second before I turned back to my work. “What do you mean?”

I smiled, shoving the needle through rough scar-tissue. “I know it can't be your real name. That one man almost said it earlier today, but you turned into a growly angst-monster and he stopped.” I glanced up at his face, finding his lips turned up in a mixture of grimace and grin. “Am I wrong?”

A small chuckle left his lips and he shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “You are not wrong.”

“So, what is it?”

For a while he stayed quiet, letting my fingers brush over his skin and the needle pierce it. Finally he cleared his throat. “Oliver,” he said, low and brooding, like no one else in the world was allowed to hear the name. “My name is Oliver Queen.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> ajnabi - stranger/foreigner


	4. An Evening Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still so surprised by the reception this story has gotten, and I appreciate every comment, kudo, like and reblog! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy where this story goes. And just like Outlander, there will be loads of twists and turns. And eventually sexy times. Can't forget the sexy times! :D
> 
> Please don't forget to leave comments with your thoughts on the chapter! Your feedback is vital to my ability to improve! Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

He remained quiet as I worked, letting his name linger in the air, heavy and important and somehow overwhelmingly sexy. My hands trembled with the last few stitches, bringing winces and sharp intakes from breath from him. I tried to keep my eyes glued to my task, but his muscles and scars and overall rugged perfection were the things of legend. All Greek god. I finished up, knotting the end and hoping all had been done correctly. But even if I failed or not, he would have a scar. Another one to add to the multitude that marred his heavenly skin. I fought the urge to trace my fingers over each imperfection.

I took away the temptation of his body by wrapping his abdomen with thin roughspun, wondering how sanitary it was. Once everything was closed and hidden, I helped him into a shirt and readjusted his sling amidst heavy disapproval.

“How am I to swing a sword or shoot an arrow?” he asked, glancing down at the fabric holding his arm tight to his body.

I laughed, finding his self-pity adorable. “You won't until I tell you otherwise.”

His head jerked up and his eyes narrowed, jaw clenching at my words. “Who are you to tell me when I can and can't do as I please?”

“I am the one who just saved your life, so I think can tell you what to do.”

We stared one another down, an action that was quickly forming into a habit. Something changed in the air, brought on by the tension and the warmth of the dozens of candles. He leaned forward, closer, his lips parted slightly and I couldn't help but follow his lead. I knew it was ridiculous and dangerous. I knew all of those things. But he was oddly charming and barbarically masculine and I couldn't help myself. My hand reached up to touch his bare chest and I felt his heart pounding. Before our lips could find one another, however, a voice sounded from the doorway.

“Al Sah-him, you're needed at the council.”

We separated quickly, then looked to the source of the words. His friend. The one who knew his true name. He was smirking at our closeness and guilty expressions. “And what trouble have they caused this time?”

“They are concerned by the presence of this one,” he replied, gesturing toward me. “But I'm sure you can talk some sense into them.” His tone was skeptical, and I knew he had every reason to be. The reception I had received upon arrival was anything but friendly.

“Right,” Oliver said, looking down at his hands, uncertain. “I'll be there in a moment.”

“Very good,” the man said, leaving us alone.

“I guess keeping me here is a bit of a controversy.”

He nodded. “Well, once I explain the situation, they will understand.” He stood, awkwardly straightening his shirt. He turned to me and grinned. “Perhaps you should come with me. I can use your innocent appearance as proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That you are not part of the League.”

I shook my head. “You keep saying that. What is the League? Why does everyone assume I am part of it?”

He sighed, then sat back down beside me, his warmth quickly overcoming me and making me long to discard my coat. “The less you know of the League, the better. Keep yourself in the dark, stranger. It is safer that way.”

“Felicity,” I blurted out, quickly covering my mouth with my hand.

“What?”

I shook my head, biting back a curse. “My name is Felicity Smoak.”

He smiled, nodding slightly, taking the name in and mouthing it, letting the words linger on his tongue, unspoken. “Well, it is nice to meet you, Felicity,” he finally said, holding out a hand to me. I took it warily. “I hope I can keep you safe.”

As he made his way out of the room, I looked after him, dumbfounded. “Well that's reassuring.”

* * *

The council chamber was a large building similar to a temple, with massive windows that let in the starry night. It was filled with torches hanging from the walls and candles placed in each corner. The people were seated in a circle on benches, chatting amongst themselves. Everyone seemed cheerful and happy, nothing like the shocked and nervous folk I had seen when I arrived. But as soon as they caught sight of us, their demeanors changed.

They grew quiet, unwilling to share their secrets and everyday musings with an outsider like me. I rolled my eyes, annoyed, wondering if I really looked as threatening as they assumed I was.

Within seconds, a man came rushing forward to Oliver, bowing. When he straightened, he spoke. “Al Sah-him, I trust your judgment, but is it really wise to allow this woman to remain in our sanctuary? Our safe haven?”

“I understand your caution,” Oliver began, allowing his voice to carry throughout the room for all to hear. “But, truly, does she look like a member of the League?”

A woman stepped forward, a dagger at her hip glinting with the light of the many flames. “Look at her garments. Those are not locally made, and they are not from our region. The only answer is that she is of the League.”

I looked to Oliver to find him trying to hold back laughter. While I considered the evidence absurd, to a woman like the one before him, it seemed plausible. I scanned the room and found others agreeing with the idea.

“Have you forgotten that I was once part of the League?” he asked, letting his gaze fall upon each person assembled. “I know their ways. I know their uniform. I know their tactics. And this woman is not part of it.”

A loud flurry of murmurs began throughout the crowd. I watched as everyone pointed and deliberated together, deciding whether I was as innocent as Al Sah-him proclaimed. And it seemed to last ages, the flames darkening with each passing minute. As we stood there waiting, my limbs grew tired, aches finally meeting my joints from the day's confusion and excitement. I sighed, growing impatient. I glanced beside me and found Oliver's expression the same, if not slightly anger-filled.

“Enough!” he finally shouted, and the room fell into silence, every eye in the room trained on him. “She is not of the League. Take my word. Believe me.”

Another woman came up, petite and clearly of asian descent. Her appearance was a surprise when mixed with the darker skin and more robust builds of everyone else in the room. She stared me down, her eyes critical and harsh beneath arched brows. Her black hair was tied back with a braided length of leather. “Do you know my Maseo?” she asked me, her eyes full of hope and desperation.

I shook my head. “I don't know who that is. I'm sorry.”

She nodded sadly, her eyes falling to the floor for a moment before meeting Oliver's. “She is not a League member.” She looked me over once more and then spoke again. “But she is something special.”

“She's a healer,” Oliver answered, glancing down at the sling encasing his arm. The room, once again, filled with murmurs.

I shook my head quickly. “No, no I am not.”

“Nonsense,” Oliver said, chuckling slightly. “You mended me just fine.”

I blushed at his confidence in my work, knowing he would feel any failures on my part tomorrow after a good night sleep. Suddenly members of the crowd began lining up before us, their fear and nervousness gone. They shouted ailments and their hopes of treatment from a healer who might aleviate their suffering. I gulped down my shock and anxiousness. My skills were not enough to treat so many issues.

But Oliver smiled at each person, giving them comforting words and assurances. “It is late,” he proclaimed. “It would be best to leave your questions for our stranger to the new day. She needs to rest, as do all of us.”

He motioned for the asian woman to escort me out. She came up close and smiled. “You will become very popular here,” she whispered as we began walking out of the council chamber and out into the cold night air.

We walked in silence, our footsteps crunching against dirt and gravel and scattered grasses. The moon was hanging low and full, casting the world into silver-lined shadows. There was a time when I was a little girl, before computers became my world and numbers and code my language, that I longed to go to space. To soar out of our atmosphere and out into the vastness of the universe to greet a greater unknown. I had repeatedly proclaimed to my mother and father that I wanted to be an astronaut. They had both laughed at my dream. My father wasn't one for exploration in any capacity other than technological mischief and other sexual ventures outside of my mother's bed. Even as a young girl I knew this. So I gave up my dream, longing to become closer to my father. And when he left, I grew closer to the tech, knowing that I could fix anything that was broken, block anything unnecessary and create things from scratch. It was a comfort.

But there, a strange village and strange time, the moon seemed friendly and welcoming and I longed for that childhood dream. I wondered what might have happened had I ignored my parents' teasings and discouragements and actually pursued astronomical sciences instead of computer engineering. But it was too late for such musings. Or too early. Whatever the stone table had done, it definitely confused my own sense of time.

“My name is Tatsu,” the woman said, glancing sideways at me as we climbed the stairs toward Oliver's home. I wondered if I would be staying there. The thought sent my heart into a flutter and sweat escaping from my palms.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, smiling. “I'm Felicity.”

We stopped on tier below Oliver's, at a small darkened hut. She pushed the door open and began lighting a fire. “Well, Felicity. This will be your home.”

I looked around, finding the one room dwelling occupied by shelves upon shelves of medicine bottles and drying herbs, rolled scrolls and leather-bound volumes. “What is this place?” I asked, shedding my coat and letting it drop onto the floor.

“Home of our former healer,” Tatsu said, turning to face me. “He died last week, courtesy of the League.”

“Oh.”

“But this will be your home now.” She circled me, eyeing my clothes with that same critical gaze she had at the council. “I will provide you with some clothing.”

She scurried away, leaving me alone in strange room in a strange village in a strange time. So much strangeness. It overwhelmed me, sending me to my knees. A few tears trickled out and down my cheeks. At the sound of Tatsu's returning steps, I stood and wiped the tears away. She brought in a stack of unfamiliar clothes.

“Robes and trousers for every day, sleeping gown for nighttime,” she explained, holding up each garment as examples. I nodded, taking a mental note of how the robes wrapped around Tatsu's frame, hoping I could mimic the appearance in the morning.

She began to leave, her steps light on the stone floor. I followed her and grasped her shoulder, unsure what I was hoping to accomplish.

“Yes?” she asked, one curved brow rising in surprise.

“I'm sorry about your husband, Tatsu.”

She smiled sadly, her dark eyes holding secrets and sorrows and so many more things that I couldn't make them out. She patted my hand, signaling me to let it fall and to let her go. “No need to be sorry,” she said as she turned to leave. “We will get him back. He will return to me.”

 

* * *

 

I left the fire flickering in the small brazier in the corner to keep warm as I changed into the sleeping gown Tatsu had given me. The rough fabric irritated my naked skin, sending me into a fit of itching. Soon I resigned myself to the discomfort and crawled into the pallet on the floor, the blankets thick and wooly. I groaned at the thought of sleeping in my contacts, wondering how long I could do it before my eyes would start rejecting them. I cursed myself for not wearing my glasses.

I rested my head back on the small pillow and closed my eyes, letting the crackling of the fire lure me to a slow spiral into dreams. Dreams full of piercing blue eyes and glinting blades, screams of agony and moans of ecstasy. The world was a blur, bodies moving and blades colliding and wind howling. Nothing stayed in focus for long, and I desperately wanted to see those eyes once more.

And then my wish was granted. The eyes returned, framed by a hood and a scarf, but it was clear who the owner of the eyes was. Oliver Queen. Al Sah-him. The leader of a band of rogues. Exile of the League. Somehow his names and titles were easily obtained and I relished in the mystery and danger they represented. He pulled his scarf down to reveal his charming smile. But then the smile turned to a grimace and he screamed, long and painful, torturous in nature.

I bolted upright in bed, heart pounding and body drenched in sweat. The fire was low, just a pile of glowing embers. I added kindling and brought the brazier back to a roaring flame before exiting the hut. The night was nearing its end, the horizon a dark gray. The moon was hidden behind a cluster of clouds, on its way to another area of the world. I let the chill waft over me, drying my skin and cooling my flushed face. I turned to go back inside, glancing up at the dwelling directly above mine. In the doorway, Oliver stood against the frame, his eyes glistening with the remnants of moonlight as he stared at me.

Some might have been intimidated or creeped out by his gaze, but I found it comforting. And sexy. You can't forget sexy.

 


	5. First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to anyone who still plans on reading this, and I apologize for this excruciatingly long wait. So many fics and other writings took my attention, but here's the next chapter! It is rather short, but I am very happy with it. I hope you enjoy! This chapter sets up a lot of the remaining events - some good, some bad!
> 
> *cover by @whoeveryoulovethemost on tumblr! Thank you!

* * *

 

A faint murmuring woke me from fitful sleep. It was incessant and overwhelming to my groggy mind, and for a few moments I forgot where I was. I believed I was safe in the tent I had last slept in, across the campfire from Rashid, waiting for answers to my many questions about the land. But then I opened my eyes and that illusion dissipated as quickly as it had formed. 

I was not in the tent. I was not with Rashid.

There was a moment of panic before it hit me that I was in the small one room dwelling Tatsu had given me the night before. It was chilly. Early morning. And yet the world beyond the door was bustling and flooded with constant murmured chatter. I stood up and stretched, feeling aches I hadn’t expected to feel. The mat on the floor had thrown my back out of whack, causing it to crack and pop in ways it hadn’t done before. I groaned and stretched a little more, listening to the sounds outside with anxiousness. And as I gained my bearings, it became clear that the voices beyond the door were waiting for me. For the new healer.

I slid out of my nightgown and eyed the collection of herbs and tonics, potions to those outside but medicines to me. I knew very little of medicine and even less about diagnosing people in a different time - I could barely diagnose people in  _ my  _ time. I typically left all medical related things to Caitlin. But I had the distinct possibility that if I did not at least attempt helping the people of this place, I’d not find my way back home.

_ Home. _

The word triggered a longing within me. I thought of my bed at home, plush and bright and so cozy that I often forgot it was necessary to leave it. I thought of my apartment and my clothes and the world I had been ripped away from.  _ And how did it happen? _

A knock drew me out of my contemplation as I wrapped myself within the robes and awkward pair of trousers - if they could be called that - Tatsu had left for me the night before. “Coming,” I called, knowing the words would certainly drift through the thin walls out to the person standing just on the other side. I ran a finger through my tangled hair, letting it fall and frame my face. I surely looked a hot mess, but there was nothing to be done about it.

I slipped my feet into the thick boots and buckled them. They were heavy, much like the ones I had worn in my MIT days… the days when coding had been an effort at activism and my wardrobe had consisted of mostly cargo pants and stained tank tops layered with ridiculous hooded vests. Somehow I knew even this nomadic apparel was ten times better than any choices my nineteen year old self had made in the area of fashion. My mother had called it my  _ dark phase _ , but what she really meant was that it was my  _ ugly phase _ .

I walked to the door and unlatched it. As it opened, I caught a glimpse of Oliver’s friend. “Why hello there!”

He simply stared at me, brow raised and lips pursed in a tight line that hinted he was fighting back a grin.

“You’ve slept too late, stranger,” he said, deadpanned, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Your patients have been waiting.”

“Are you among them?”

He shook his head. “Oh no. I’m the definition of perfect health. Al Sah-him sent me to keep you safe.”

It was my turn to raise a brow. “Keep me safe?” I scoffed. “If these people are sick, how can they cause me harm? I mean, why would they want to?”

“You’re the stranger. They don’t trust you.”

The words sank in. I nodded. “Right…” I leaned to the side to look past his hulking frame, catching a glimpse of a long line stretching behind him and all the way down the path. “Is this typical?”

He shrugged. “They are curious about you and scared for themselves. That makes them line up before you.”

As I ushered the first patient over, I looked back to the man, admiring his height and build as well as the kindness that seeped out with every movement and word. “Pardon me asking, but what’s your name?”

He grinned then, and slight laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Just call me Digg.”

 

* * *

 

The day dragged and the line of patients never seemed to shorten. With each new ailment I was confronted my lack of knowledge. Many I turned away with excuses, the main of which being that I needed to sort through the herbs and potions to a certain what I could give out and what I should keep for greater needs. Most had no qualms about returning at a later date - they were simply glad to have the option again.

It was nearing the end of the afternoon when the last patient left me with a handful of clean rags and instructions to keep her husband’s wound as clean as possible. I wiped my brow of the grime the day had brought and glanced over at Digg. The grin on his face said he was both amused and impressed. “Did I do well?” I asked, turning it him with my hands caught at my hips with sass in wait of his answer.

He shrugged. “You did better than our previous healer. You gave them peace of mind and true instruction and care. That’s what we’ve been in need of for ages.” The man untangled his arms from their perch at his chest and patted me on the shoulder. “You did well, stranger. Truly.”

His approval meant a great deal. If he felt that way, it meant Oliver would feel the same.

We parted ways then. He left me a tidy the little home - as home as I was bound to get in such as place and time without wifi and running water. With one last glance at the shelves, I left and made my way down and down. The steps were crooked and shrub lined, dangerous to someone as clumsy as me. But the boots Tatsu had left for me were flat and melded with my foot perfectly, gripping the ground with each step I took. The mountains surrounding the area drowned the world in shadow, mist threatening to creep in with each passing minute. A chill had set in, but the robes I wore kept me warm, locking everything in. A light breeze rustled my hair and I wondered if I looked as bad as I assumed, but then I shook my head.  _ I doubt anyone cares, anyways…  _

Within a few minutes, I found myself down near the creek that ran below the ascending village above.

It trickled soothingly against the stones, a quiet song in the chaos the few days had been. I squatted next to it and dipped my hands beneath the water. The chill that shot up my fingers and through my body was a shock; I gasped at the cold but allowed myself to get used to it. I cupped the water in my hands and splashed my face, the purity of it cleansing my tired and grimy skin. The thought of bathing in such frigidity terrified me.

As I scrubbed my hands, I heard the rhythmic beat of horses hooves and glanced up. Across the creek, Oliver was tending the horses, settling them down for the evening. With each job and show of attentiveness, he was so gentle and loving. His gentleness wasn’t simply a side effect of the sling I had forced upon him the night before - it was simply his true self exposed to creatures he understood and enjoyed. I had experienced his skill in the saddle, understood his connection with the mount he had ridden on his journey.

Watching him was enthralling. Intoxicating. It took me out of my fears and the confusion my life had spiraled into and was so quickly drawing me into his bubble - a bubble of mystery and broody stares and chiseled muscles. I sighed. He was a treat on the eyes, for sure. He was so many things. All things I so often gravitated away from. But now, it was as if he was luring me - tugging me.

I crossed the quietly flowing water and made my way to him, unable to help myself, purposely stepping on twigs to alert him of my presence. Regardless of his draw and his gentleness with the horses, he was a dangerous man, and I knew catching him off guard could be a terrible idea. One of the worst decisions I could ever make… maybe even the last.

“You’re loud,” he said, voice low and tinged with a hint of weariness as he rubbed one of the horse’s noses - his horse. The one I had mounted with him the day before.

“I did that on purpose.”

He chuckled as he rested his forehead against the animal’s, blinking at the creature soothingly until she let out a garbled snort. He mimicked it before moving away, patting the horse’s neck as he made to undo the saddle. He never looked my way, never made any move to do so. It was unsettling how he was aware of his surroundings even if he didn’t take care to look. I had never been that way. My peripheral vision was terrible and my own perception of things often way off, so much so that the S.T.A.R. Labs team had taken to keeping things up on shelves and cleaning before I ever entered a room out of fear I might trip. Here, though, the world was so different. Tremendously different.

I had read trashy romance novels set in different time periods, imagined myself in those scenarios plenty of times. It was never an easy task. Within all the comforts of my time, the terror of more primitive living was overwhelming. And yet, I was stuck there, living with a village of people who had probably thought I was some sort of alien - not that aliens were a bad thing, I had seen my fair share in my time with S.T.A.R. Labs. But to a group in a time long before my own, the differences they saw in me must have been stark and scary.

I watched Oliver remove the saddle and begin brushing through the horse’s coarse hair, smoothing it and relieving it of any dust and grime. “There, there, Speedy,” he murmured. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Speedy?” I blurted out. The name sounded so foreign to the time. Almost a nickname for a friend or family member - most definitely not a name for someone in a time where swords and bows were the weapon of choice. I rolled my eyes.  _ How about a time where you need a weapon of choice at all… _

He ceased his grooming and the horse’s ears twitched in irritation. “Yes,” he answered, turning to look at me for the first time. His eyes were bright but somewhere within the darker rings of blue, where most people might not look, I glimpsed the same weariness found in his voice and a small hint of sorrow. This man had witnessed many things. “Speedy.”

“That’s an odd name.”

He grew very still at the words, almost stiffened like a statue. “Is it?”

I nodded. “I mean, you can name your horse what you will, but it just seems…  _ odd _ .” Finding a way to explain my thoughts was almost impossible. I could not, at all, explain that it seemed like a name from the future.

“I named her after my sister,” he explained, eyes distant and the sorrow within his eyes spread. I longed to reach for him, but kept away, my fingers twitching with my need. “She’s gone though…”

I frowned.  _ Nice one, Smoak. Opening up old wounds…  _ “I’m sorry to hear that, Oliver.”

“There’s not much I can do about it, really.”

His words - his voice - finally hit me. Something about it and about him seemed so out of place, so modern. His voice had no hint of accent and sometimes his choice of words felt forced, as if he were attempting to blend in. No one else seemed to question it, but if they weren’t privy to the world or times beyond their own, how would they know what to look for?

The horse, Speedy, swiveled her head and nipped at Oliver’s shoulder impatiently. “Ow,” he whined. “So needy, aren’t you?”

Again, his words felt wrong. I thought about it as I watched him. I knew nothing of this League everyone feared, but Oliver clearly had firsthand knowledge. Perhaps they had been an influence to him - perhaps they were far more modern than their name and actions let on.

I’m unsure how long I stayed there, watching as Oliver readied the horses for the evening, but it was impossible to leave. His movements locked my gaze, so I simply studied. He had taken off the thick robes, leaving his torso wrapped only in a white linen shirt stained with sweat and old splatters of blood. The muscles beneath stretched and curved, each movement drying my mouth. I cursed myself.  _ I can’t seriously be lusting after this caveman… No. _

He finished with each horse and then turned to face me. His eyes lingered on my face, a slight glint in his eyes. His lips were pursed in the obvious struggle of fighting a smile. “What?” I asked, knowing all too well that my cheeks were flushed.

“You’re still here,” he said, brow raised. “Why?”

The question created a thick awkwardness that spanned the small space between us. My mind raced and fought through a jumble of possible answers, all of them ridiculous and total lies. I was a bad liar. I knew he would see right through me - he already did. He found it amusing.

“I - uh…”

Suddenly a crowd ran toward us, beckoning to something in the distance. As I turned - thankful for the distraction from Oliver’s question - I heard the hoofbeats growing closer and closer. Coming up fast, a hooded figure waved, a bow held high. The crowd surrounded us within moments and the murmurs from the people told me who was approaching, though the name meant nothing to me.  _ Al Sa-her _ .

I turned to Oliver and he eyed the visitor with wariness. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and then leaned down, his whispered words against my ear sent shivers up and down my spine. “He is Al Sa-her. The Magician.”

I turned my head to meet his gaze. His eyes were inches from my own and the closeness was almost too much to handle. “Who  _ is _ he though?”

Oliver frowned. “A League informant. A spy for us.” The way he said that last word told me he didn’t much believe it himself.

“Do you trust him?”

That question sprouted a grin from Oliver and the sight of it caused my heart to leap. He chuckled and shook his head. “Would you trust someone with such a name?”

I didn’t have time to answer. The Magician came up and slid of his horse, not hesitating as he came up to Oliver and bowed quickly. It wasn’t the same sort of bow I had witnessed from others around the village. This one was executed with distaste. “Al Sah-him,” the man said, eyes cascading up from his bow to settle at Oliver’s face. “We must talk.”

“By all means,” Oliver responded curtly.

“ _ Privately _ .” The Magician eyed me with a mixture of interest and hatred, and somewhere in there was something that resembled pity.

“Anything you have to say, you can say in front of all of us. We have no secrets here. You know this.”

The Magician groaned in annoyance. “Fine,” he finally said, glanced at me one last time and then returned his gaze to Oliver’s, a strange satisfaction in the set of his features. “Ra’s al Ghul has need of this one,” he continued, pointing in my direction. “You will deliver her to the League - to Nanda Parbat - in the next week or there will be blood.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think! Please leave comments!
> 
> *alternate cover by @candykizzes24 on tumblr! Thank you!


	6. A Shocking Alternative

* * *

 

I remember a time, when I was about five years old, when my parents argued almost nightly. They were loud and overwhelmingly ugly, always keeping me up too late. And I remember how absurd the arguments were, and how helpless I felt. I hadn’t felt that in so long - not since my father left and I cried over his absence. 

But in that moment, with Oliver facing off against the Magician in a flurry of accusations and threats, I felt that helplessness again. I couldn’t stop them and I couldn’t really fix the situation, so I listened… waited for a way to step in.

“He’ll not have her,” Oliver hissed out, surprising me with his intensity.

The Magician chuckled. “There’s not much to be done about it, Al Sah-him. Either you give her over to him, or he’ll bring your fragile little kingdom down upon you.”

Oliver shook his head and took a step back, letting his hand grip my wrist protectively. “This is not my kingdom. It belongs to each person here. But I will not give Ra’s this woman.” Then he shifted even more to keep me out of sight. It frustrated me - belittled me - but I peeked around his broad form as he asked, “How does Ra’s even know of her?”

“A scout caught a glimpse of her yesterday during the skirmish. No one saw him get away and he reported her presence to Ra’s.”

I wrenched my wrist from Oliver’s iron-clad grasp, impatient with the conversation. “What use could this Ra’s have with me?” I asked. “I mean, I’m useless. I have nothing to offer… well, I mean, maybe I do, but I’m unaware of-”

“ _ Stranger _ ,” Oliver growled in warning.

“No. I wish to know!”

The Magician stepped forward and his eyes bored into mine with something terrifying held deep within them. I fought the urge to step backward and away from him. He appraised me with something that melded curiosity and utter confusion. “I know very little of Ra’s al Ghul’s desires, but I do know he will not stop until he has what he wants.”

I turned and looked to Oliver. A glimmer of knowledge was there, just beyond the mask he wore so well. A mask that baffled me and frustrated me, and even more shocking, it caused my heart to beat wildly. He was a mystery shrouded in more damned mysteries. I hated mysteries. They begged to be solved.

Oliver turned to meet my gaze and a tiny piece of that mask fell away, just enough to show me the worry within - a worry I wasn’t too unfamiliar with and that I could relate to, it rocked the foundations of both our worlds as they mixed together in that moment. Oliver sighed, knowing the only answer to this whole confusing situation. “We leave at first light,” he said, defeated. “I will not have these people in danger because Ra’s has decided to take interest in some stranger.”

Everyone around us began a low murmur of worried chatter and numerous heads shook and eyes grew sad, the news definitely not popular. I couldn’t blame them - the man who protected them and helped to provide for them was opting to leave and take this woman, me, to a hellish fanatic he had clearly escaped.

“I will join you,” Tatsu said as she stepped forward, her face cold and serious. I was certain she would not budge. Oliver would have to agree.

He nodded with a slight grin peeking out of the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t expect it any other way, Tatsu.”

As everyone began to leave, I remained there, just standing in silence. Someone wanted me for something. Probably sinister. No… definitely sinister. The thought made me shiver, hugging myself for a semblance of emotional support. Then I saw he had not left. He was still there.

“Are you well?” he asked, brow furrowed as he stepped closer.

I shrugged and attempted to plaster a smile onto my face. Judging by the continued furrow, I had failed. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. The honest to God truth. Standing in the middle of the Hindu Kush region with my body covered in odd garments and a puzzling man watching me with an intensity I wasn’t accustomed to was not something that could, in any capacity, keep me certain of my well-being. “I truly don’t know.”

He stepped even closer and reached out, his hand touching my arm just above the elbow. His fingers traced a pattern there, clearly meant to be comforting, and to an extent it was. “I won’t allow the League to claim you.”

His voice was low when he said the words. Low and growly and…  _ threatening _ . It floored me that he would take such a stance for me, a stranger, a nobody to him.

“You don’t even know me,” I said, trying to blink away the effect he was having on me, just with that simple pattern and promise.

“That may be true,” he murmured, inching closer so our faces were level and I could feel the heat of his breath on my face, mingling with my own. “But it feels as though I’ve known you an eternity.”

And just like that, his hand dropped from my arm and his breath left as he stepped away, fleeing my presence as he said some final soothing words to the horses.

 

* * *

 

I ate dinner alone, stepping away from the congregation of people to eat in the light of a flickering torch. The area just outside the council chamber was scattered with warm fires, families huddling together as they drank the broth and dunked the naan. It was surprisingly hearty and the savory flavor was comforting. Conversation around me was quiet - just a low murmur mingled with the mountain breeze. The sky had darkened with clouds and it smelled of rain. It added something to the whole scene. Hominess. Relaxation. 

A calm before the storm.

As I tilted the bowl and drank the warm broth, a set of footsteps stopped in front of me. I brought the bowl down from my face to see Oliver standing there, shifting from foot to foot, bowl in his hand, covered with a piece of bread like a lid. His other arm was still in its sling, much to my surprise. I had assumed he would take it off at his earliest opportunity. Standing there as he was, he looked like a lost, confused puppy and it made me grin. He acted so tough and cold, keeping to himself and speaking very little. I was shocked that he seemed interested in taking his meal with me.

“The sling is still there, I see.”

He grunted in response, his nose scrunching slightly in distaste. “It’ll be discarded before we enter Nanda Parbat.”

I shook my head. “It will not.”

“It will.”

“I’ll make you a new one.”

“And I’ll discard that one as well,” he said, then tipped his bowl up to sip the broth, all the while eyeing me in challenge.

“You’re very stubborn aren’t you?”

He brought the bowl down and nodded. “As are you.”

At first, I felt offended. I was nothing like him, so broody and growly and just…  _ annoying _ . But then I recalled something Barry had said to me a few years back, just after one of my word vomits that had gone on for ages.  _ “Not to complain, cause I know I talk a lot - and awkwardly so - but you definitely need to develop a brain to mouth filter.”  _ And he wasn’t wrong. I did need one, and it had always gotten me into trouble. I wondered how things at Nanda Parbat would go if I was left to speak.

“You will remain silent in the presence of Ra’s al Ghul. That would be for the best.”

The order was almost absurd, almost too much for me to handle. I fought the urge to lash out, to toss the remainder of my broth in his face and storm off, but I knew that would get me nowhere. He was in control of the whole place - had the respect of everyone gathered around - and disrespect would not be tolerated, certainly.

So I kept my annoyance stifled, hidden within, and frowned. “Is this Ra’s really that terrible.”

“Yes.”

He was quick to answer… far too quick. And the fear the laced the words sent a shiver down my spine. “Do you have any idea why he would  _ want me _ ?”

He sighed, pinching a bit of naan off and nibbling on it as he thought - wondering how much to divulge. Finally he swallowed and answered. “I have my theories.”

“Care to share with the class?”

For a moment, I watched him just stare at me, one of those little grins twitching again. Something about his reaction to the phrase told me he’d heard it before, somewhere. But the time period, the part of the world, definitely didn’t mix with my modern words. Then he shook his head. “I’d rather not.”

I raised one of my brows. “Seriously?” When he didn’t respond, I continued. “You’re gonna take me into the lion’s den and not give me any preparation… no hints as to why we have to go. Nothing?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

I groaned. “To keep me in the dark. That’s stupid. Why not give me at least a little information?”

“I have my reasons,” he answered, lips cut into a hard line that told me he was finished with the conversation. But he remained there, nibbling the bread and drinking the broth while I simply stared. His eyes remained narrowed in challenge and trained on me. “Trust me,  _ stranger _ . I know what I’m doing.”

I scoffed. “You have a ridiculous way of showing it.”

“So be it.”

I stood, discarded my bowl on a table against the wall of the council chamber, then made my way back to the dwelling, my new home, slamming the door behind me in annoyance.

 

* * *

 

Sleep didn’t last long. The beating of a hand on my door woke me. “ _ Stranger _ , it is time to depart,” comes Diggle’s voice, gruff and threaded with something similar to amusement. I groaned and got up. Slipped into the traveling clothes Tatsu had given me, slung my pack onto my back and then exited the dwelling. I had packed everything that might be necessary for a trip with a group such as Oliver’s - medicines, herbs and cloth to dress wounds. 

As I closed the door, Diggle stood there grinning. “Yes?”

“Do you typically leave home with hair similar to a bird’s nest?”

I brought my hand up to my hair and felt the matted knots and tangles. I frowned, knowing all too well that I looked a mess - a ridiculous mess. Diggle chuckled. “Oh, stop it!” I shrieked melodramatically, then rushed back into the dwelling to find a comb. I brushed through all of the imperfections, setting things straight, then tucked the comb into my pack. As went through the door once more and leveled an annoyed gaze at Diggle. “Better?”

He nodded. “Much better.”

“Then I suppose we should get going.”

“Suppose so.” He still looked amused, as if my very presence - my every word - were something to find entertaining. I scrunched my nose and huffed out an annoyed sigh before stomping off, pack slung over my shoulder. I was certain I heard him chuckling.

The trek down the stones steps was long and full of interested gazes seen through doors barely cracked open. Something in the way they looked - nervous, interested and yet scared, all mixed together - brought a shiver through me. I had no confidence in the trip we were about to take… none whatsoever. And even when we saw the company assembling with horses and supplies and weapons, I grew even more wary. Tatsu looked grave, her lips turned down into a stern frown and her brows were slumped into a worried furrow. I waved to her and her eyes brightened slightly, but then dimmed seconds later.

“Stranger!” Oliver shouted. I turned to see him with two grazing horses, placing saddlebags and other things onto their backs. As I walked up, he grinned. “Have you ridden a horse on your own before?”

The question hit me hard, slamming my mind with an assault of memories - one really. It featured an angry horse and me crumpled on the ground, covering my face, pigtails splayed on the ground every which way. “Successfully?”

My own question brought a hearty, boisterous laugh from Oliver and a more audible chuckle from Diggle. They stood there watching me, then quieted. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Obviously,” I answered, embarrassment covering my face as I felt just a smidge of offense at their shocked expressions.

“How have you gone all this time without learning to handle a horse?” Oliver asked quietly, shocked, taking a step closer to me. His brow was raised in confused scrutiny. Diggle was shaking his head.

“Just fine, thank you very much,” I said.

“Well, you must learn to ride and handle a horse.”

“I’ll walk.”

Diggle laughed, then stopped when Oliver turned a glare toward him. “We haven’t the time.”

“We’ll make time.”

“No, we won’t. You will learn to ride. I will teach you.”

I shook my head and stepped away from Oliver. “You will not. I’d rather take my chances and learn on my own rather than let you make me feel inferior.”

Oliver frowned and studied me. “I wouldn’t make you feel inferior. I have patience to teach, even in these pressing times.”

This time, I joined Diggle’s laughter. “Oliver, I promise you, you have no patience. Especially not when a woman such as this one is concerned.”

I stuck my tongue out at Diggle and he feigned wounded pride. The rest of the company was gathering around now, listening and watching the entire exchange. Mingling between the masked men and women was the Magician, all smirks and self-importance.

“I’ll learn on the road,” I offered, patting the horse on the shoulder in an attempt to feel confident next to it. It let out a huff and continued chewing on the grasses at its hooves. Its ears twitched with every movement I made. As I made to hoist myself onto its back, Oliver reached out, stopping me.

“This is my horse, stranger.”

I looked at the horse, vaguely recognizing it from the day before. “Speedy,” I whispered, and he nodded.

I walked a few paces forward to the other horse, a white mare with speckles of brown here and there. “This one’s mine?”

Oliver nodded.

“And her name?”

“Roshani.” When I stared blankly at him, he added: “It means bright light.” Then he grinned and huffed out one of his small laughs. “Seems fitting.” He said nothing more, simply mounted his horse and rode to the front of the mass of hooded and masked bodies, authority seeping from his presence.

I looked to Diggle. “Why is it fitting?”

Diggle shrugged. “Do not ask me to understand the musings of Al Sah-him.”

 

* * *

 

I pretended I was confident on the horse called Roshani, but deep down I was terrified. And it seemed the horse sensed my fear and utilized it, taking control from me. She followed closely behind Oliver’s brilliant, midnight black stallion like a chick follows a hen. I kept my head covered in a warm black head scarf, the wind clawing at the fabric with each punishing gust descending from the mountains.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning. The mountain loomed over us, keeping watch of our progress - a silent prayer interspersed with wind like a chant. I kept my eyes attached to Oliver, studying him. He was puzzling, a mixture of severity and vulnerability. The conflict was most evident in the weariness around his eyes and the sadness locked deep in the blue of his eyes. A pool of so much heartache and violence. I didn’t have all the information - I had barely even scratched the surface of the whole story - but it was clear that life had not been easy for the mysterious man with two names.

Tatsu came up beside me after a few hours, hands gripped tight around her reins and lips set into a determined frown. We rode in silence, the only sound between us the beat of our horses’ hooves against the ground.

“You’re here to save your husband, right?”

She nodded.

“What exactly happened to him?”

She kept her eyes trained on the path ahead and for a few moments, I wondered whether she had heard me at all. Then she cleared her throat. “Ra’s has control of his mind.”

“How?” I asked.

“Ra’s knows much in the way of subterfuge of the mind and body. He can take control of anyone, if they are not vigilant against him…”

“How did he take control of your husband?”

A sadness overtook her face, deep and long felt, something I had never known. I could see the tracks of her pain in her posture and the way her fingers tightened, even more, on the reins. “He caught my husband at his worst. At his most vulnerable. He promised my husband relief from his guilt and grief, and my husband accepted the promise without hesitation.” She shook her head and it was easy to see her fight to keep unshed tears at bay. “I wasn’t enough for him then. But I will be enough for him now. I will be what he needs.”

Her intensity was inspiring - a portrait of a strong woman who desperately needed to make things right, to own her vulnerability and make it so much more. I reached out and covered her clenched hands with my own, gentle and reassuring. She stared at our hands with a saddened curiosity, as if she had never been touch with such concern and gentleness. I assumed it had been a long while since any such affection had been bestowed upon her. “You’ll get through to him. I know it.”

The rest of the day moved in silence and repetitive scenery. As the sun dipped behind the mountains to cast the world into a shade of dampened grey, we made camp. Groups paired off to gather firewood, unburden the horses and take inventory of food. I went with Oliver to gather wood.

“Do we have no tents?”

He looked up as he bent to grab a twig. “Too much trouble. We’ll sleep beneath the stars.”

I nodded. “Oh.”

His brow raised and that smirk tickled the corner of his mouth. “Have you never done so?”

I shook my head. “Never. I mean, I’ve camped, but my family was never much for  _ roughing it _ . Especially not my mother. She’s more of the fancy accommodations and ready meals type.”

He stared at me blankly as he straightened. “You are definitely not from around here,” he mused.

“I can tell you aren’t either.” I looked back toward the camp, at the assemblage of people, clearly from all walks of life, culture and region. “And it would appear most of your group isn’t.”

Oliver slowly nodded, his features shifting from easy going to tensed. “The League recruits from all places, no matter creed or color.” His words were carefully spoken, chosen with a deliberateness, as if they were not the ones he might instinctively choose. The more time I spent with him, the more time I caught these subtleties - little insights into the man the hid behind masks and titles.

We returned to the camp and waited as some of the men prepared a meal or bread rations and tough meat. I drank from a waterskin shared between many, fighting to ignore the disgust the swarmed within me. In my own time, I was known as a germaphobe, hellbent on keeping as much bacteria away from me as possible. I had done my best to apply this to the new world I was in, but with the standards of living so different from my own, it was difficult. And now, in a camp, surrounded by many who knew of nothing but this, it was even more difficult.

A story began being told… something ancient with much weight. A tale of ghosts and dancing flames, of gathering spirits and elixirs of life. I sat, enthralled, as the story was told. I ignored the world around me, the bodies gathered there. But then Oliver sat beside me and leaned in close. His hot breath grazed my skin, sending up goosebumps. “Look around you, stranger,” he said, his nose touching the shell of my ear for the briefest of moments. “Keep yourself alert.”

Without meaning to, I shifted closer to him and turned my head, letting my eyes scan the world outside of our little circle of light and verbal mysticism. “I see nothing.”

He shook his head. “Look closer, deeper. We are in League territory. There are always eyes watching.”

I turned and looked out again, past the glare of the fire and the comforting warmth, past our cluster of travelers and into the depths of darkness, each gust of wind chilling me to the bone. I imagined lurking forms, crouched and deadly, like wild cats ready to pounce. I imagined glinting swords and arrow tips, daggers and staffs. Then I saw them. In the far distance. Shrouded in the staple hoods of the League, they loomed against the blackness of the mountains, their bodies blending in, the shadows their perfect camouflage. I shivered beneath their gazes.

Five of them.

Ten eyes.

Ten hands.

Even more weapons.

“Relax, stranger.”

I shifted to look at him. His eyes were hooded in road-weariness and the calm of his words were strange in comparison to his usual demeanor. “How?”

“Because I am here. I will protect you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He nodded. “I do. We are bound by more than you know.”

 

* * *

 

His words stayed with me, taking root to plague me through our travels, with each change of scenery and every conversation. And as night fell again and we set up camp in a new clearing with the same routine as the night before, I followed him to gather firewood. I stayed silent, mimicking his movements and studying his deliberateness… the purpose and intensity he put into all of his tasks.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing,” I replied, startled.

“I can hear the wheels and gears working in your brain.”

I raised a brow. “Where are you really from?”

He stopped in his tracks, shifting from the quiet monotony of gathering to the tense, on-edge alertness. I had caught him off guard, shattered his carefully constructed wall. A rare and momentous feat. His lips tightened and his shoulders rolled and locked into a defensive posture. He shook his head, eyes unreadable.

“I can tell you’re not from here,” I continued, the awkwardness to much to bear. “You speak as though this is not your time. Your accent is, well, not much of one - it sounds like mine… which is  _ American _ . Boring American. And your horse’s nickname. Speedy…  _ Speedy _ ? That’s not a normal nickname around here. It’d make more sense if it were spoken in Arabic or Hindi or Urdu, and with different phrasing. But  _ English _ … with an  _ American _ accent? No. And-”

“Enough!”

The boom of his voice echoed off the ground and carried… carried farther than we wanted or need. His eyes flared with something that sent a wave of terror through me. I realized they were the eyes of a man cornered, prodded with torturous facts and left with no way out. He dropped the firewood and walked closer, jawbones grinding together in angered irritation. If he were an animal, he would have growled.

“You know nothing, stranger. Nothing about me or this place, this time or this world.”

“You sure love being cryptic, don’t you?”

“A man is allowed his secrets, is he not?”

I stepped closer, leveling my gaze with his in challenge. “Not if you expect me to trust you.”

His face softened infinitesimally. “You have already given me your trust, whether you know it or not.” And then he walked away, leaving me with a pile of firewood at my feet and more questions than answers, blood boiling.

“Damned cryptic asshole.”

 

* * *

 

We were awoken a couple nights later, in the early hours, to hands covering our mouths. As I struggled, I caught one glimpse of Oliver fighting back before a roughspun sack was slipped over my head and I was plunged into speckled darkness. Through the imperfect stitching of the sack I caught the flicker of torches in and out of the circle. They dragged me away from my bundle of blankets and lifted me onto a horse. I could feel someone there behind me, feel his arms encircle my waist and his face rest beside mine. His breath beat against the sack, the coarseness rubbing against my cheek.

“No more struggles, stranger,” Oliver’s voice whispered as he tugged me closer, hands gentle and comforting. “We are being led to Nanda Parbat.”

“Why the damned sack then?” I demanded.

“They don’t want you to know the way.”

The words lingered there in the limited space between us until I realized a small truth. “You’re not covered, are you?”

“I am not. I have been there before.”

I nodded despite the sack, the adrenaline from moments before disappearing, leaving my whole body weary and heart scared, verging on anxious. I leaned back against Oliver’s chest, feeling the firm muscle of his body, a shield-like pillow. I tried to control my breathing, in and out, even and calm. His hands grasped for the reins and held my waist, a reassurance in the darkness as we began to move forward.

And then he hummed a tune.

An almost familiar tune.

A tune first sad and mysterious, but then suddenly recognizable and comforting… and completely out of place.

A Disney song.

A song my mom used to sing for me to fall asleep after my father left us.

And as he repeated a part that would ask for me to take his hand, I did. I laced my fingers with his and drifted off with one thought firmly cemented in my brain.

_ He’s a time traveler too. _

The sudden halt of the horse woke me from my sleep feeling as though it had only been a few moments. Oliver’s hands were still there, one twined with mine and the other at my waist grasping the reins. The sack had been removed and more torches assaulted my sleepy eyes. The room was filled with dozens of hooded figures escorting out company out and through a dark hallway. The opening behind us slowly closed, spiked gates slamming together with an echoing creak.

Oliver leapt off the horse and then held up his arms, beckoning me down into their protection. I swung my leg over and slid down, his hands trailing along my body, warmth following his touch all along the way with a fire that scalded through my clothes. I fought the urge to look up at him.

“Al Sah-him, The Demon’s Head has need of you…  _ urgently _ .”

Oliver turned and nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Sarab,” the Magician said to the hooded man. Beside me, Tatsu stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Her hands toyed with her collar, exposing a necklace I had never seen on her before. A polished white stone framed in silver lattice. Simple and elegant against the darkness of her robes. “Maseo,” she murmured, voice weak and breathy. Her husband’s stride faltered only slightly before he recovered and continued through the hallway as if he had heard nothing - all purpose and duty.

All was silent but for the sounds of our footsteps and the crackling of the torches that dotted the hallway at intervals. It went on for many minutes before the wall broke into windows. I gazed out at a starlit night and folds of mountains and caverns hugging the fortress we walked within. I had never seen such a view in my life. It made the world seem vast and small all at the same time. But then the view was gone, replaced by the same rough walls, suffocating and terrifying.

We turned down another hall, then entered a large chamber filled with braziers and candelabras instead of torches. The hooded figures hurried and lined the walls as silent guards, spears clutched in their hands, their positions guiding our eyes to the furthest point of the chamber and the imposing figure standing there in wait. Trailing robes shrouded his body and a jeweled sword hung low at his hip, threatening and decorative all at once. He held out his hands and directed us to him, an odd smile on his face. As we neared, his eyes shone with knowledge and hardships long endured. The depth I saw there made my stomach clench in nervousness.

“Al Sah-him,” Ra’s al Ghul said, voice carrying through the hall to reach every corner. Behind him, a bubbling pool roiled and sizzled, glowing an ethereal green. It struck me, triggered a memory, a mission. The whole reason I had been thrust into the mess in the first place. Healing waters. “It has been far too long, my son.”

Oliver shook his head. “I am not yours any longer,” he spat out.

Ra’s looked around, a laugh escaping his lips. “Then why are you here?”

Oliver shrugged. “You left me no choice.”

“Your honor sends you into a trap, my son.”

Oliver’s posture went rigid and I reached out to take his hand, somehow hoping even the slight touch could calm him. “Trap?”

“It is not just her I’m after,” he said, gaze shifting to me for just one moment, then back to Oliver. “I want you both for the same purpose. You both have knowledge I desire, and I will secure it. You will both wed into this family, this legacy.”

“Wed?” I blurted out, disgust thick and charged in my tone.

“Stranger,” Oliver warned as he stepped closer to me and slightly forward, shielding me from Ra’s al Ghul’s critical gaze. “What do you mean by  _ wed _ ?”

Ra’s smiled. “A glorious pair of unions.” As he spoke, a woman stepped forward with a grace I had never seen before. Her face was angular and her eyes piercing in their intensity, hair long and dark, flitting like wings with her movements. She did not look as enthusiastic as Ra’s. “This is my daughter, Talia. She is to wed Al Sah-him. And I am to wed this mysterious stranger of yours.”

“Like hell you are!” I screamed, then turned to run. Oliver caught my arm and pulled me back to face the insanity before us.

“This family shall grow, one way or another, and your secrets will be mine.”

Oliver’s grip on my arm tightened as he growled out, “You didn’t get my secrets when I was part of this family willingly, as your assassin. What leads you to believe I’d give them to you now?”

Ra’s stepped down from the dais he had been occupying, his stride slow but very wide; he was directly in front of Oliver in little more than a breath, nose to nose and imposing. “It is my hope that my daughter will be much more  _ persuasive _ .”

“This will not be,” Oliver promised.

“Then we shall keep you until it is a reality - until you bend the knee.”

Then Ra’s nodded to the guards along the walls and they swarmed us until hands tore us apart, Oliver’s protective grasp gone from my arm, and they dragged us through hallways at the opposite end of the chamber. As we left earshot, I picked out one last order.

“Be certain Tatsu has the darkest cell.”

 

* * *

 

Nanda Parbat was cold, much older than the world outside. The stones walls of my cell absorbed no heat, and without a torch within my space, light and warmth were nonexistent. I kept myself pressed into a corner, arms locked around my legs and chin pressed against my knees to keep my teeth from chattering.

I pondered my situation - the situation I shared with Oliver. The egotistical air Ra’s exuded stole all of my confidence, drained and devoured everything to leave me defenseless. The idea of his eyes roving over my body, seeing me at my most vulnerable, terrified me. It made my stomach ache and bile build up in my throat.

And then the glowing waters appeared on the backs of my eyelids as I attempted to ease my anxiety. It beckoned me, calling with its mystical ambiance. My mission had been clear. Find the source of these long told myths. And there it was, in the same fortress I was locked within. But with Ra’s al Ghul in possession of it, I questioned whether it was worth the trouble it could cause. Did the possible good outweigh the overwhelming certainty of the bad? If a man like him utilized it, it couldn’t be wholly good. There had to be some sort of cost.

The ideas swam in my mind, keeping a company in the silence. I had no sense of hour - was it still night or had we reached the break of day? I felt disoriented, lost and locked away, at the mercy of some ancient crazy cult-like leader. I hoped Tatsu was okay, that she had found a way I fight, to escape.

Then I heard it. The distinct sound of keys turning in locks and the clink of metals touching. Like chains. My cell door opened and a head poked through. No torchlight filtered in, but I could see the Magician clearly, then Oliver and Diggle behind them.

“Come, stranger,” the Magician beckoned impatiently. “We must hurry.”

I jumped up and left the quiet behind. Oliver’s hand found its way to mine, filling the emptiness with the calloused skin he possessed. “Where’s Tatsu?” I asked, looking about frantically.

“We haven’t the time.”

Before I argued with the Magician, Oliver squeezed my hand, then spoke, “We can’t find her, Felicity.”

The softness of his words and the use of my real name struck me, deeply. I nodded and fought back tears. I had only known her for a few days, but her story desired a happy ending - almost  _ required _ one.

“Let’s go,” I finally said and we were running, our footsteps thunderous in the empty blackness. We wove through the labyrinth of Nanda Parbat, fully at the mercy of the Magician. But if Oliver trusted him enough to follow him in such a desperate situation, I had faith.

We hit a dead-end at the same moment that a roar of opposing steps sounded behind us. My heart was racing. “Where do we go?”

Oliver pressed a finger to my lips. “Silence,” he whispered before turning my head toward the wall. It shifted and creaked, then slid aside to reveal a brightly lit tunnel that dropped down into the depths of the mountain. “Go! Follow the Magician!”

I shook my head. “You are not staying here.”

He grinned. Diggle crossed his arms, eyes sparkling in the flickering light. Oliver’s thumb traced patterns onto the back of my hand. “I don’t plan to.”

He pushed me through without warning and closed the false wall, cutting out connection, my hand still outstretched at a point of separation. I felt lesser, in need of something to build me back up. It was a feeling I had never experienced before. Completely unexplained. Completely horrifying. Completely intoxicating.

So I ran with the Magician, the torches casting long shadows all over the tunnel like an ancient funhouse effect. I imagined I heard them fighting the assassins above us, weapons colliding and fists connecting with jaws. I imagined Oliver’s shoulder and the flares of pain he had to feel with each and every movement. The nervousness I felt was new to me.

We reached another false wall and trekked through an assortment of shelves and alcoves.

“The League no longer uses this section of the fortress. They deem the contents of these shelves obsolete. But they are quite wrong.” He stole a couple scrolls from an alcove and then kept moving. “The rest of the company is this way, readying the horses.”

“How’d they take the horses back?”

He turned and smiled, tapping my nose with the dusty scroll. I sneezed. “ _ Magic _ .”

I rolled my eyes as we reached the other men. And we waited, on edge, jumping at every minuscule sound.

Footsteps sounded in the tunnel, slow and relaxed, not in any way what I would have expected in the predicament we found ourselves. Then the false wall shifted and Oliver appeared, scuffed and slightly bloody in places, but alive. His brows were furrowed and his jaw set tight - he held no weapons. I resisted the unexplainable urge to run to him, to throw my arms around him and just hold him, unyielding.

He and Diggle made their way into our waiting circle and sighed with a mixture of relief and weariness.

“We need to leave,  _ now _ ,” the Magician insisted, one brow raised in impatience.

“Of course,” Oliver said, turning to me for a moment then heading for his horse.

“But one thing, before we set forth.”

We all turned to the Magician. His impatience was still there, but a gleam in his eyes showed something more... something mischievous. “What?” I asked, walking toward Oliver - my horse was nowhere to be found and I knew instinctively to go to him, to trust his surety in the saddle.

“I have a plan to keep this ridiculous plan Ra’s has concocted from having any insistent weight. A plan that will require your full cooperation.” His eyes flitted between us, an unapologetically knowing expression there with the smile plaguing his lips.

“How do I know to trust you?” Oliver inquired, a hand snaking up my back to rest at my shoulder. The Magician saw the movement - tracked it like a hawk - and smiled even wider.

“Did I leave you to the whims of Ra’s?”

“No.”

“Then you can trust me.”

After a moment of contemplation, Oliver squeezed my shoulder and said, “What is your plan?”

“The two of you shall marry, keeping Ra’s from gaining access to whatever secrets you possess. If we wants the two of you to himself, you are clearly of dangerous worth to him. We must not allow him to trap you.”

I shook my head. Oliver’s hand fell from my shoulder. Diggle let out a choked laugh before crossing his arms to compose himself. The silence that filled the air was stifling - awkward. Everyone stared at the Magician.

“We will do as you say,” Oliver answered, quietly and without inflection. It was the voice of duty, but deep within the rough tone, I could hear a hint of thrill.

I shook my head and turned to face him, anger building. “Do I not have a say in this?”

A grin twitched at the corner of his lips, but his eyes remained dark with interest and a desire that mirrored the one I had fought moments before when he had reappeared. “No,” he admitted. “You do not.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Don't forget to leave comments!
> 
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	7. A Rushed Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. It was initially gonna be very long but then I realized certain scenes deserved their own chapters... I'm sure you'll understand once you finish this chapter! ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

[Felicity's Saree](https://n4.sdlcdn.com/imgs/a/0/1/Jiyan-Green-Pure-Chiffon-Plain-SDL642192005-1-6892f.jpg) | [Felicity's Jewelry](http://www.polyvore.com/stones_time_wedding_jewelry/set?id=217436741#fans)

* * *

 

I wasn’t certain how long we had been riding or where we were heading, but I did know that Oliver and the Magician had been arguing the whole journey - back and forth, heated and growly, neither one backing down. The alternative the Magician had brought to us was not the most desirable, but far more so than getting lost in Ra’s al Ghul’s world. But Oliver had requirements. 

Silly requirements.

Simple requirements.

Sentimental requirements.

“We haven’t the time, Al Sah-him,” the Magician hissed once more as we crested a hill which overlooked a massive city. It sprawled the expanse of a valley, rich arrays of color and sounds drifting on the wind that caught at our hoods. A tower at the center of the city poked at the sky, proclaiming dominance of the view. I studied the place, wondering what sort of adventures awaited us within.

“We’ll make time,” Oliver insisted, spurring the horse forward and down to the city’s entrance below.

“No one can make a ring in time for us to get on with the ceremony, and even if someone could, there’s a matter of the…  _ consummation _ .” The way the Magician said the word made it threatening and altogether dreadful. I shivered at the thought. Oliver responded to my movement by tightening his arms wear they encircled my waist. It was comforting. A reminder of his protective presence and desire to keep me safe.

“We’ll make time for that as well,” he assured the Magician.

The older man let out a sarcastic sound and forced his horse away from us, throwing words over his shoulder, “Then get to it and meet us at the temple.”

Oliver moved us onward as the great walls of the city loomed over us. They were massive, casting shadows down on everyone within their sights. The gateways were open for travelers and traders alike, all weary and ready for the hospitality the city within had to offer. “We’ll find everything we need at the bazaar.”

“We should get her some… inconspicuous clothing as well,” Diggle proffered.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked. Each piece was clearly of League make, but Tatsu had given me each one with care and consideration.

“The League know who to look for. A fair-haired woman in their regalia. We mustn’t allow them to find you, stranger.”

“Diggle is correct,” Oliver said, dismounting before helping me down. “All of us should find new attire. And perhaps some henna to get rid of those golden locks.”

I studied Oliver’s face - each line and quirk that made him who he was. He was fascinating and altogether mysterious. But I nodded. “Can I at least pick my own garments this time?”

Oliver bowed his head. “Of course, stranger. As you wish.”

We weaved deeper into the city until we found the bazaar, a noisy and vibrant place of wares and food that assaulted my senses. Oliver bought me a strange beverage and then directed me to a tent filled with fabrics and completed garments while he went to make good on his promise of a ring. Diggle stayed with me - the ever present shield.

The woman in the shop spoke to me, but the language barrier was much too high and the speed of her words were much too fast even if I had knowledge of her tongue. I shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,” I said sadly.

Diggle chuckled. “She didn’t understand you, either.” Before I could complain, he held up his hands to silence me. “She said that Oliver instructed her to give you whatever you wanted and to spare no expense.”

My brows shot up and I blinked. “Really?”

Diggle nodded. “Yes. He’s taking matrimony very seriously.”

I turned and followed the woman through her tent. My hands glided over the fabrics and the bejeweled shrouds, admiring each piece. She offered me different items but none of them felt right - something always missing. Then my hand fell onto the softest fabric of the most vibrant green - a shocking clover amidst shades of moss. I held up the garment. “This one,” I explained, nodding. The woman eyed me in confusion but then nodded as well, a smile forming on her lips. She pushed me into a back section of the tent and drew a curtain so I was left alone with the garment, a muffled silence surrounding me.

I slid out of my heavy League clothes and then let my body luxuriate in the beauty of the saree I had chosen. It was a perfect fit, snug and soft along all the curves of my body. The top exposed my stomach and the skirt hugged my waist. I slipped on the pair of little flats and let my toes wriggle to acclimate to the new sensation. I threw the length of cloth over my shoulder and then exited the enclosed space, the bundle of League attire in my arms. The woman and Diggle both halted their movements when they saw me, eyes wide and mouths agape. Then the woman began to bustle about, searching the clutter and piles of fabrics.

“What’s she doing?”

“You’ll see,” Diggle answered, his eyes softened as he followed the old woman’s movements.

When she ceased her searching, she came to my side with a leather pouch clutched to her chest and tears brimming along her waterline. She began to speak, voice choked with emotion and in that moment, I wished deeply that I could understand her language. But Diggle was there beside us and he whispered her words to me.

“ _ I wore these on my wedding day, long ago. And my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother wore them before me on their wedding days. We’ve passed them along to all of our daughters. But I have none. No children at all. Please. Wear them. Bring them joy once more. _ ”

She handed me the pouch and she slowly, purposely, began extracting the contents for me to see. A headpiece with glittering diamonds forming flowers, set in gold, and a set of green and gold bangles. She slipped the bracelets, one by one, onto my wrists and then took the time to adorn my brow with the headpiece. I protested the entire time but she dismissed me with little huffs of exasperation that made Diggle chuckle.

The last flourish was a black cloak with a hood, to cover the garment until the moment of matrimony. Then she kissed my cheeks and spoke a few more words.

“What is her name?” I asked Diggle.

“Sanjana,” he explained after inquiry.

I bowed my head to her, hoping my eyes and my gesture meant something to her. “Thank you, Sanjana.”

She beamed, her wrinkled face bright and her eyes finally shed the tears I had seen moments before.

“Please tell her I will return these to her after the wedding.”

Diggle relayed the message but Sanjana shook her head vehemently. “She says to keep them. They will finally be used and passed on once more.”

I thanked her again and pulled my hood further onto my head as we exited.

Diggle looked about and then made toward the left, deeper into the market. “Now to find some henna.”

 

* * *

 

The experience with henna darkening my hair was an odd one, with jabbering women fussing over the process as Diggle held my headpiece safely in his hands. But once it was over and my hair dried, I resembled an older version of myself. Before S.T.A.R Labs. Before MIT. Back when I was innocent of the world and dying to find my place in it. It felt strange, finding myself back in those shoes once more.

I looked in the distorted mirror they had in the tent to find a different person melded with that younger girl. Vibrant green saree, eyes lined with archaic means of makeup and hair a rich chocolate shade that glinted with an auburn tint in the light. Last they added some redness to my lips.

The women smiled and clapped their hands excitedly, throwing out exclamations I could not understand until Diggle came in and grinned. “They are saying you are gorgeous. No one will recognize you.”

“I admit I agree with them,” I said as I turned to the mirror once more to admire their work. “I barely recognize  _ myself _ .”

Diggle handed the ladies some coins and then exited with a simple, “We need to move.”

I followed closely and took in the world around me. I drew no attention our way with my hooded cloak and dark hair, all the merchants and customers of the bazaar considered me one of their own - no one suspicious or strange.  _ No stranger. _

The deeper we explored the bazaar the louder it became, drowning out specific sounds to create a cacophony that matched the splashes of colors and sting of spices in the air. Cumin. Curry. Saffron. Others I was not familiar with. There were barrels of these spices with scoops to get one’s fill in jars or sacks. There were exotic fruits, dried meats and an endless array of carts serving finished dishes and drinks. We ignored all of them, our steps purposeful.

We finally found Oliver outside of a blacksmith’s shack surrounded by combinations of pop-up tents and established buildings. He held a small pouch in his hand similar to the one Sanjana had kept her bridal jewelry. I eyed it as we joined him but he merely winked and tucked the pouch into his new cloak and robes. “Later,  _ stranger _ . You must wait.”

We waited for Diggle to change into his new wardrobe. Oliver stood close to me, keeping his eyes on my face as the world around went about as normally. I could tell he was itching to see what I had chosen for my new attire, but I mimicked his previous playfulness and winked, shaking my head. I tugged my cloak tighter around me. “Later, Al Sah-him. You must wait.”

Amidst the raucous soundtrack of the bazaar, distinct shouts and orders rang out, clear and terrifying, distant but too close for comfort. “Al Sah-him! Bring him to me!”

Without hesitation, without waiting for Diggle to return, Oliver grasped my hand and we were flying through the tightly packed aisles of booths and tents, weaving through the colorful world. Our pursuers were fast and trained - bloodhounds for a very obsessive and violent lord. “Hurry, stranger! We must move faster!”

There was no logic to our progress. No specific location we sought shelter in. But we moved quickly, my arm aching at the joint as Oliver pulled me along. His strides were so much wider and faster than my own, a reminder of our height difference.

Like whiplash, he tugged me into a small alcove, a hidden alley, and covered my body with his. He caged me in, my back against a rough sandstone wall, the texture clutching at my cloak until it ripped away from my head to reveal the headpiece. His breath was ragged against my cheek, the intensity matching my own, and I looked up to find his eyes gazing at me, dark and full of lust. I tilted my head, eyes never leaving his and our breaths mingled.

“Felicity,” he whispered as his body shifted closer. He was all I could see, all I could hear and all I could smell. He was everything and I forgot everything else as his face tilted down toward mine and our lips brushed… slightly… infinitesimally… a hairsbreadth but just enough to light a raging fire.

“Oliver!” Diggle’s voice was rough and tired, breathless as he charged into our little world, definition of unwanted. “We gotta get to the temple. We lost the League, but only just.”

And we were off again, Oliver tugging me along. My hair whipped with the freedom my lost hood gave it, and Oliver looked back for a moment and grinned. “Perfect color,” he said.

I felt a blush creep up my neck and into my cheeks, settling with what heat had already taken up residence there. And we ran.

 

* * *

 

The temple was dark, lit only by a few scattered candles. No specific religion claimed it as their own - no religious paintings adorned the walls and no sacred texts resided on altar. It was for anyone, anything.

The Magician stood behind the altar, his lips pressed into a firm line of annoyance. “Your adventure took long enough,” he hissed as the doors slammed behind us, drowning the building in dim candlelight.

“We’re ready,” Oliver said.

As he stepped forward to the front of the temple just before the Magician, I let my cloak slide from my shoulders and to the floor. Beside me, Diggle chuckled and when I glanced up at him, I could see he was reacting to Oliver. 

I turned my attention to the man - my betrothed - and couldn’t help but smile. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape. As I came to his side, I nudged him. “Don’t look so shocked.”

He cleared his throat and turned to the Magician.

The ceremony began, all of it in another language, but I wasn’t sure which one. The words echoed off the temple walls and burrowed into my soul. Something was shifting within me, deep and life-altering. My hands touched Oliver’s, fingers tangling as he faced me and whispered, “Repeat after me.”

I stumbled over the words, their meaning and beauty overwhelmingly different from what normally left my tongue. They held weight. They held ancient importance. And the tone of Oliver’s voice told me they meant so much to him - they were not easily spoken. And then he slid a ring onto my finger. A heavy ring featuring a dark stone arrowhead surrounded by bent and molded metal. It fit perfectly, in every possible way. It felt like Oliver and somehow, without any understanding of how, it felt like me as well.

And then he leaned forward, lips parted as they had been in the alley. They pressed against mine, first gently, then with a passion that stoked the flames we had created before. I felt the heat everywhere, throughout my body. His hands left mine and his arms wound their way around my waist until he brought me flush against him.

The Magician laughed. “Save it for the consummation, Al Sah-him.”

And that was that. It had only taken a few moments, a few words, but that was all that was necessary. In those precious moments, I had arrived as Felicity Smoak… but I left as Al Sah-him’s wife.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I'm sure you can see why I believed certain (now upcoming scenes) needed to be in their own chapter... And, just a tease, it is my goal to make this chapter an Oliver POV. Leave me your thoughts on that idea in the comments! :D
> 
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	8. Pillows & Candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to get this chapter to you guys! 
> 
> This chapter is from Oliver's perspective... one of a couple chapters I have planned that will be from his perspective. Enjoy this little glimpse into his head and also the vague hints about his past!

* * *

 

They rode away from the city, cloaked and reliant on shadows. Oliver kept his arms tightly encircled around Felicity, unable to consider anything else. She was something new, something old, something unexplainable. She was slowly becoming his everything, and that thought terrified him. 

They made for the old caravanserai, its lights beckoning them from a distance. The Magician had already made arrangements for them there, with specifications for their best room to be prepared for a happy newly wedded couple’s first night together. And as they drew closer, Oliver could feel the tenseness in Felicity’s muscles. Neither of them had been given a chance to breathe - really breathe - since they were captured by the League.

He leaned forward, lip brushing her ear, and whispered, “Relax, Felicity. It will be all right.”

She leaned back into him and nodded slightly. His instinct forced his arms to tighten around her, protective in a way he had never been protective before. Not before the League and not after. He had been so selfish before - egotistical to the extreme - and now it was all gone. He felt a desperate need to protect this woman and that need had grown without any explanation. It was something about the fire in her eyes and the sweetness of her smile. She was complicated in ways he wasn’t used to, and it was clear she was from somewhere else… another time and place completely.

They rode up to the building and handed the horses off to be fed and watered, weary from their constant travelling. The Magician opened the door for them, holding it until they all entered to an empty common room. The owner of the caravanserai scurried about, pointing out their amenities - food and drinks abundant - and then ushered Oliver and Felicity up into a private room. Dimly lit and full of rich fabrics and plush pillows all, the room beckoned them.

Oliver felt Felicity’s tenseness return as the door shut behind them. A platter of fruits and breads rested on a low table, along with a pitcher and two cups. He hoped it was wine. He kept his gaze away from Felicity as he shed his outer robes. The belt clattered to the floor and he heard Felicity make a sound. A whimper. He shifted, eyes turned down toward his boots, and he glanced up to find her hands fidgeting with the edge of her cloak. He focused his attention on her fearful face and reached out, hands finding hers. He wrapped his hands around her smaller ones and pulled her away from the entryway. “It’s okay, Felicity.”

She shook her head. “How can you say that?”

He shrugged. “Because it is. Or… it will be.”

“I fail to understand how us being hunted by insane sword-wielding assassins and their doubly insane leader is gonna be okay. Not to mention the fact that we’re married.  _ Married _ . Man and wife, married!” She ripped her hands from his and began to pace. Her cloak trailed behind her, revealing the gorgeous green of her saree with each nervous step. “I’m not supposed to be married. I’m supposed to be researching -  _ searching _ \- the rumors of magical waters. Magical waters that insane leader happens to be housing in his secret, epic mountain fortress of assassin-y doom! I-”

“You’re researching the Lazarus Pit?” Oliver interrupted, his brows raised in surprise. “How do you know of that?”

Felicity stepped back for a moment and the fear in her eyes doubled, rending his heart to shreds. He didn’t want to be the reason for her fear. He wanted to be her strength - her protector as his vows implied. But she kept her distance and remained silent.

He stepped closer, hands up. “You can trust me, Felicity.”

“How can I know that?”

“We’re married, aren’t we?” When she simply glared, he added, “It might not have been of our own preference or design, but the vows I spoke were taken seriously. You have my full trust and all the secrecy in the world.”

He motioned toward the table and waited for her to respond. After a few moments she moved forward and collapsed onto a pillow in front of the table. He sat across from her and smiled encouragingly, then reached for the pitcher. He swirled its contents and then sniffed. A smile spread across his lips at the distinct scent of wine contained within. He poured each of them a cup and then held his up in salute. “To courage?”

She picked up her cup and nodded nervously. “To courage.”

She downed her cup in one long gulp, then refilled it herself, all before he had even tasted the wine on his own tongue.

He let the silence remain long enough for her to get comfortable. The wine slowly brightened her cheeks and warmed her skin until she was forced to shed her cloak. The vibrancy of the fabric struck him once again and he held in the need he felt. The desire to feel the lines of her curves beneath the fabric, to unwind the fabric, to slip the bracelets from her wrists… shedding layer after layer until all that remained was her bare skin, perfect beneath his calloused hands. But he bit back the desire. Rushing wouldn’t help her. And he wasn’t exactly courageous enough to initiate anything more than conversation.

“How do you know of the Pit?”

She took another gulp of wine and then closed her eyes. “It is  _ very _ hard to explain.”

“We have plenty of time,” he reminded her.

She let out a breathy, cynical laugh. “Right.” Another drink, this time more of a sip. A deep breath. “Have you seen those weird stones?”

“Weird stones?” Oliver asked, masking the recognition he felt. Stones. Weird stones. He knew them quite well… knew every set of stones throughout the area.

“They look like a giant table.” When he didn’t answer she groaned in annoyance. “There’s no way you haven’t seen them, but whatever. I stepped beneath them in the year… well… I won’t mention what year. But definitely not  _ this year _ . I stepped beneath them and then ended up here. And then I was kidnapped by you.”

“Wait a minute,” he said with a frown, offended. “We did not  _ kidnap _ you, Felicity.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“Well…” He pondered their first meeting, their disagreements and his adamance that she go with them… his threats and lack of gentleness. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Well, I was sent to this area of the world to find the waters. They are sorely needed by a friend of mine.”

He shook his head. “You can’t use the waters.”

“Why not?”

“They are dangerous.  _ Very _ dangerous.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Oliver stiffened then, his heart thudding in his chest at the request. The Lazarus Pit was nothing to trifle with - nothing to take lightly in any sense of the word - but it was also difficult to explain to someone outside of the League. It was a mystical force, something beyond average human comprehension and belief. It was a thing of legends, of ancient texts long forgotten. “The waters of the Lazarus Pit are… powerful.”

“How so?”

“It can heal. It can extend life. It can raise one from death.”

“And how is that dangerous?” Felicity asked as she sipped her wine. It was striking how different she looked with darker hair - everything seemed darker and wiser and… stunning. Her eyes shined brighter framed by earthy curls, piercing him with her criticisms and judgment.

“It all comes with a cost.” He shook his head and stood, his impatience with the conversation growing thin. He had what he needed - he knew she was a traveller like him. The knowledge severed and threw away a weight that had been tethered to his shoulders for so long. He could talk to someone, openly and without fear. He could be honest.

He could finally plot an escape… a return to his life in Starling City.

“What does it cost?”

He halted his pacing, eyes closed and fists clenched. He could hear the crackling of the many candles and Felicity’s breathing. He sensed the many bodies downstairs turning in for the night. He heard a distant whinny from the stables, and cheeps and whistles of crawling creatures throughout brush and foliage beyond the caravanserai yard. He heard it all paired with his heartbeat. “It costs your soul.” He turned and faced Felicity. “I’ve seen it eat a man alive from the inside out until the person I once knew is no longer there. It turns you into a shell of what you once were, housing not your soul but a corrupted entity hellbent on destruction. Ra’s al Ghul is the best example.”

And then he explained it all. Ra’s al Ghul’s obsession with youth and power. His father’s and sister’s demise and his own transformation into Al Sah-him. He shared everything he knew - everything he had experienced - all except one thing.

_ I cannot tell her yet. I cannot tell her where I am from.  _ When _ I am from. _

She got up from her place on the floor, amidst the pillows, and walked to him, barefoot and silent. She reached out and touched his chest, right above his heart. The touch was gentle and compassionate, reminding him of how little he had felt of that since arriving in that world. A violent world. A terrifying world. It sent a thrill to him. “I am so sorry, Oliver,” she whispered. She was looking up at him through her lashes, eyes lined with charcoal black to accent the blue and green within them. She was mesmerizing and comforting and fear-inducing, all at once. “But know it is not your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

She didn’t question him further, didn’t ask for more elaboration or information he had left out. She just stood there with her hand on his chest, thumbing rubbing a tiny circle there which signaled her nervousness.

It didn’t take long for him to calm down. There was something about her presence - her touch -  that soothed his tortured soul in the best way possible. When they finally sat down and resumed their drinking, he was ready to stop talking. He was ready for her story.

“Tell me about yourself, stranger,” he said, playfully using her now obsolete nickname. It wasn’t really an order, but it wasn’t a question either. He knew she’d tell him what he wanted to know. Fair was fair and he had divulged plenty to her. So he waited, picking at the remains of the bread and glancing up at her every few seconds, marveling at her beauty.

He hadn’t really taken the time to admire her before. She was truly, truly stunning.

“I’m a scientist. I guess here I am a healer too. I do a lot of research, mainly with computers… uh, well, you don’t know what those are I suppose.”

He suppressed a grin. He did know what computers were and he fought the urge to say as much. “Interesting,” he mumbled. Felicity chuckled quietly before ripping a piece of bread from the loaf. She plopped the morsel into her mouth and chewed, slowly with her eyes glued to the single candle flickering on the table.

Oliver studied her in the silence. She was forlorn, eyes locked onto something within the flame he could not see, deep and distant. He knew the feeling all too well. The desire to be back in your own time. The need to tell your secret. The fear that the future was too far away and the stones too impossible to return to. He knew it all and felt a distinct longing to reveal everything in that moment. “Anything else I should know?” he asked.

Her gaze shifted from the flame and met his, the light dancing within her eyes. “I’m awkward as all hell and babble a lot.”

Oliver chuckled. “I have yet to hear such things.”

She rolled her eyes and patted his hand. “In time.”

He caught her hand then, feeling the warmth there and the beating reverberating from her wrist. The ring on her finger was cold - severe against her delicate skin. But he kept their hands locked, his thumb massaging the top of her hand, circle over circle. Her breathing deepened and her eyes drew heavy and hooded by her lashes. He brought their joined hands up to his mouth and pressed his lips against her skin, gentle and comforting. He fought the urge to taste her skin, to learn more about her through his senses. He lifted his gaze to see her eyes completely closed and her mouth slightly ajar in a silent moan.

He traced the length of her hand with his lips, barely touching but gaining so much with each expanse of skin he explored. As he moved, he slowly twisted her arm about to expose her wrist and the erotic, beating thrum that rested there, just below the surface. Oliver let his tongue snake out and connect with the vein that pulsed there. Beat after beat hit his tastebuds, the sensation mixing with the luxurious taste of her skin until all he could hear was his own heart and the panting breath escaping Felicity’s throat, deep and full of need.

It was all moving quickly and he couldn’t stop it. The strange connection he felt to her strengthened with each moment their skin touched.

“Oliver,” she whispered, low and breathy. It was a plea. He glanced up from her wrist to see her eyes pained with a longing.

“Yes?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

She remained silent, the words etched in the flickering light within her eyes but unable to leave her lips. So he moved, slow and deliberate. His hands ghosted up her arm until they reached her shoulder, then traced the curve of her shoulder blade until the buttons running along her spine collided with his skin, tempting like a challenge. He polished each one with his fingertips as he listened to her breathing. She was inches from him, head lingering near his neck, breath fluttering against his skin in a stuttered rhythm. Her fingers trailed up and under his tunic, gently at first, but then with a slow and deliberate force, nails scraping against his abs.

The sash of her saree fell from her shoulders as her top loosened with the last button unfastened. He allowed his fingers to explore the length of her spine - every inch a new discovery of delicate expanses of fevered skin, heated by their close proximity. He felt her back arch as her body curved into his. The movement sent them spiraling.

Her hands tugged at his tunic and his pulled at her top, clumps of fabric falling away as they exposed themselves, his chest brushing against her breasts, hand trailing back to her face. He cradled her cheek as their lips met.

A deep moan escaped him that he hadn’t realized he was holding in - a growl from the center of a beast, garbled and distorted by the movement of his lips against Felicity’s. Her tongue danced against his in time with the fury of her hands fighting with his trousers.

Everything fell away. Clothes. Light. Time itself. Within a few frenzied moments, everything simply disappeared. Their bodies fell to the floor against the scattered pillows, his body above hers and then they were one. The shock of pure pleasure rocketed through Oliver and his hips jerked. Back and forth. In and out. Her hands gripped his hips, tugging and scratching at his skin as she let out noises that sent him closer and closer to his own release.

 

* * *

 

Beneath the blankets and surrounded by mounds of pillows, he held her close, their skin still slick and their chests still heaving with their panting. Her head rested against his shoulder, cradled there against his body - a perfect fit. The room dimmed with each passing second, the candles burned low. With a hum, her hand reached out and caressed his chest, tracing the many scars.

He knew the origin of each and every scar that spanned his body, knew the circumstances of each and the lessons that were to be learned from their creation. Every scar was linked to a memory, horrible and yet necessary to his existence in the world. And as her fingertips danced over each imperfection, he felt some form of healing - a deep soothing that trickled from her body to his with even the most minimal of contact. He sighed deeply, eyes closed, and pulled her closer.

“I have to ask you something,” she whispered after a lengthy silence, fingers tracing patterns along his sternum.

“Ask away.”

“What  _ time _ are you from?”

His head jerked out of his relaxed position and looked at her. She was eyeing him critically, but with a healthy dose of compassion and encouragement. The softness of her eyes, mingled with the tangles of hair surrounding her face and the glow of her cheeks in the dying candlelight eased his defenses and he gave in.

“Twenty-twelve.”

She looked away for a moment and nodded.

“How did you know?” he asked.

She grinned then and let out a little chuckle before faintly singing the song he had hummed that day on horseback… such an eternity ago. “Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don’t you cry.”

He smiled and continued the verse, voice raspy and off-key. “For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm…”

The rest of the lyrics rested between them, thick and heavy with implications neither of them were willing to explore - so many variables neither of them had expected to arise in their lives. Her hand ceased its circuits against his skin and he felt the loss acutely. Finally she eased the tension.

“What made you think of that song that day?” she finally asked, quietly and nervously.

“You were nervous. It reminded me of my sister… it was kind of our song.”

And the memories flooded him. Taking Thea to see Tarzan in the theater, her wriggling in her seat with excitement. Their age difference never seemed to distance them and he enjoyed making her happy. All of the popcorn. All of the candy. They had recited the songs on the way home, irritating their driver to no end. He remembered singing that song to her when she had nightmares or when their parents fought. And when they had been caught by the League, even in her teens, he sang it to her and she had calmed in the face of uncertainty. And even when her lifeless body had been cradled in his arms, her eyes open but unseeing, he had sobbed the words. Their words. Their song.

The sensation of Felicity’s finger brushing his cheek returned him to their bed of pillows and random blankets. He hadn’t realized he was crying until her fingers kept wiping up the trails. “The song means a lot to me too.” The tone of her voice told him there was a story behind the words, something specific that came to mind the moment the opening lines were sung.

They resided in a silence after that, content to just remain in each other's arms and simply exist. Finally, Oliver untangled himself from her web of arms and legs, stood and grabbed more wine. When he turned, Felicity was ginning. A mixture of admiration and lust that looked magical in the dim light.

“What?” he asked, a jolt of nervousness overcoming him.

“Nothing,” she murmured with a little tilt of her head, eyes still fixed on his body, devouring every line.

“Oh really?”

“You’re pretty hot, y’know.”

He laughed as he handed her the bottle of wine. “Hot?”

“ _ Sexy _ ,” she added before taking a lengthy swig from the bottle, a little trickle of burgundy liquid slipping down her chin from the corner of her mouth. He knelt on the pillows beside her and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches from one another.

“Sexy?” he asked, voice low and gravelly. She shivered, then nodded. With that answer, he trailed his tongue along the length of her jawline, catching each sliver of wine that remained there, then descended. Tongue against neck. Tongue against collarbone. Tongue against breast… against hardening nipple.

She pushed him down and to the side, her roughness a surprise in the erotic gentleness of the moment. Her legs straddled his hips, her center hovering above his erection, poised and teasing. His hands traced the curves of her body as their mouths melded, hot and frantic, muffled moans vibrating against their tongues.

Slowly her body descended, the warmth of her center enveloping him until they were one. Joined, physically and emotionally. And as she moved, up and down with a slight roll of her hips, the words cascaded from his mouth.

“You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone…” He sat up then, wrapping her in his arms as they both jerked their hips. Felicity’s eyes locked with his as he continued to recite the vows they had made. Same lilting rhyme. Same profound meaning. “I give you my body, that we two may become one.” Their movements grew haphazard and her mouth was parted with the growing intensity. His hand trailed down to the secret place between her legs, hidden but desperately longing and rubbed until her cries matched the coiled electricity at the base of his spine. “I give you my spirit, until my life may be done.”

They crashed then, sweating and panting, their climaxes perfectly in sync. They spiralled down into a euphoric silence, arms holding one another close and legs tangled together.

After a while, as the last of the persistent candles fluttered out and he could sense her drowsiness, his hand smoothed through her hair, brushing at tangles and tossing the earthy scent of the henna about. She sighed against him, completely content. He could see her features perfectly even in the darkness, as if she glowed from within… her own personal light.

“You are a stranger no more,  _ nuri _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> nuri - my light
> 
> What did you think of the chapter!? Please leave a comment!
> 
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> 
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